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DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 
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V6 

The  Voice  of  the  People 


UN,VERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 

iniiiiiiiiii 

00008005133 


BY    THE 
SAME   AUTHOR 


"THE  descendant" 

AND 

"  PHASES  OF 
AN  INFERIOR  PLANET  ' 


Afitx .    /6-S 


The  Voice  of  the  People 

By 

Ellen  Glasgow 


fyD' 


NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  CO. 

1900 


Copyright,  igoo,  by 
ELLEN   GLASGOW 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  Co. 
Astor  Place,  New  York 


TO  REBE  GORDON  GLASGOW 


-  O  «3  &  'jl 


BOOK  I 

FAIR   WEATHER   AT   KINGSBOROUGH 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hil 


http://archive.org/details/voiceofpeopleOOglas 


THE 

VOICE    OF   THE    PEOPLE 

BOOK    I 

FAIR  WEATHER   AT   KINGSBOROUGH 


The  last  day  of  Circuit  Court  was  over  at  Kings- 
borough. 

The  jury  had  vanished  from  the  semicircle  of 
straight-backed  chairs  in  the  old  court-house,  the 
clerk  had  laid  aside  his  pen  along  with  his  air  of 
listless  attention,  and  the  judge  was  making  his  way 
through  the  straggling  spectators  to  the  sunken 
stone  steps  of  the  platform  outside.  As  the  crowd 
in  the  doorway  parted  slightly,  a  breeze  passed  into 
the  room,  scattering  the  odours  of  bad  tobacco  and 
farm-stained  clothing.  The  sound  of  a  cow-bell 
came  through  one  of  the  small  windows,  from  the 
green  beyond,  where  a  red-and-white  cow  was 
browsing  among  the  buttercups. 

"  A  fine  day,  gentlemen,"  said  the  judge,  bowing 
to  right  and  left.     "  A  fine  day." 

He  moved  slowly,  fanning  himself  absently  with 


4  The  Voice  of  the  People 

his  white  straw  hat,  pausing  from  time  to  time  to 
exchange  a  word  of  greeting — secure  in  the  inalien- 
able affability  of  one  who  is  not  only  a  judge  of  man 
but  a  Bassett  of  Virginia.  From  his  classic  head  to 
his  ill-fitting  boots  he  upheld  the  traditions  of  his 
office  and  his  race. 

On  the  stone  platform,  just  beyond  the  entrance, 
he  stopped  to  speak  to  a  lawyer  from  a  neighbour- 
ing county.  Then,  as  a  clump  of  men  scattered  at 
his  approach,  he  waved  them  together  with  a  bland, 
benedictory  gesture  which  descended  alike  upon  the 
high  and  the  low,  upon  the  rector  of  the  old  church 
up  the  street,  in  his  rusty  black,  and  upon  the  red- 
haired,  raw-boned  farmer  with  his  streaming  brow. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  out,  sir,"  he  said  to  the  one,  and 
to  the  other,  "  How  are  you,  Burr  ?  Time  the  crops 
were  in  the  ground,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Burr  mumbled  a  confused  reply,  wiping  his  neck 
laboriously  on  his  red  cotton  handkerchief. 

"  The  corn's  been  planted  goin'  on  six  weeks,"  he 
said  more  distinctly,  ejecting  his  words  between 
mouthfuls  of  tobacco  juice  as  if  they  were  pebbles 
which  obstructed  his  speech.  "  I  al'ays  stick  to 
plantin'  yo'  corn  when  the  hickory  leaf's  as  big  as 
a  squirrel's  ear.     If  you  don't,  the  luck's  agin  you." 

"  An'  whar  thar's  growin'  corn  thar's  a  sight  o' 
hoein',"  put  in  an  alert,  nervous-looking  country- 
man. "  If  I  lay  my  hoe  down  for  a  spell,  the  weeds 
git  so  big  I  can't  find  the  crop." 

Amos  Burr  nodded  with  slow  emphasis:  "  I  never 
see  land  take  so  natural  to  weeds  nohow  as  mine 
do,"  he  said.  "  When  you  raise  peanuts  you're 
raisin'  trouble." 


The  Voice  of  the  People  5 

He  was  a  lean,  overworked  man,  with  knotted 
hands  the  colour  of  the  soil  he  tilled  and  an  inanely 
honest  face,  over  which  the  freckles  showed  like 
splashes  of  mud  freshly  dried.  As  he  spoke  he 
gave  his  blue  jean  trousers  an  abrupt  hitch  at  the 
belt. 

"  Dear  me !  Dear  me !  "  returned  the  judge  with 
absent-minded,  habitual  friendliness,  smiling  his 
rich,  beneficent  smile.  Then,  as  he  caught  sight 
of  a  smaller  red  head  beneath  Burr's  arm,  he  added : 
"  You've  a  right-hand  man  coming  on,  I  see. 
What's  your  name,  my  boy  ?  " 

The  boy  squirmed  on  his  bare,  brown  feet  and 
wriggled  his  head  from  beneath  his  father's  arm. 
He  did  not  answer,  but  he  turned  his  bright  eyes 
on  the  judge  and  flushed  through  all  the  freckles 
of  his  ugly  little  face. 

"  Nick — that  is,  Nicholas,  sir,"  replied  the  elder 
Burr  with  an  apologetic  cough,  due  to  the  insig- 
nificance of  the  subject.  "  Yes,  sir,  he's  leetle,  but 
he's  plum  full  of  grit.  He  can  beat  any  nigger  I 
ever  seed  at  the  plough.  He'd  outplough  me  if  he 
war  a  head  taller." 

"  That  will  mend,"  remarked  the  lawyer  from  the 
neighbouring  county  with  facetious  intention.  "  A 
boy  and  a  beanstalk  will  grow,  you  know.  There's 
no  helping  it." 

"  Oh,  he'll  be  a  man  soon  enough,"  added  the 
judge,  his  gaze  passing  over  the  large,  red  head  to 
rest  upon  the  small  one,  "  and  a  farmer  like  his 
father  before  him,  I  suppose." 

He  was  turning  away  when  the  child's  voice 
checked  him,  and  he  paused. 


6  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  I — I'd  ruther  be  a  judge,"  said  the  boy. 

He  was  leaning  against  the  faded  bricks  of  the  old 
court-house,  one  sunburned  hand  playing  nervously 
with  the  crumbling  particles.  His  honest  little  face 
was  as  red  as  his  hair. 

The  judge  started. 

"  Ah !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  he  looked  at  the  child 
with  his  kindly  eyes.  The  boy  was  ugly,  lean,  and 
stunted  in  growth,  browned  by  hot  suns  and  pow- 
dered by  the  dust  of  country  roads,  but  his  eyes 
caught  the  gaze  of  the  judge  and  held  it. 

Above  his  head,  on  the  brick  wall,  a  board  was 
nailed,  bearing  in  black  marking  the  name  of  the 
white-sand  street  which  stretched  like  a  chalk-drawn 
line  from  the  grass-grown  battlefields  to  the  pale  old 
buildings  of  King's  College.  The  street  had  been 
•  called  in  honour  of  a  duke  of  Gloucester.  It  was 
now  "  Main  "  Street,  and  nothing  more,  though  it 
was  still  wide  and  white  and  placidly  impressed  by 
the  slow  passage  of  Kingsborough  feet.  Beyond  the 
court-house  the  breeze  blew  across  the  green, 
which  was  ablaze  with  buttercups.  Beneath  the 
warm  wind  the  yellow  heads  assumed  the  effect  of 
a  brilliant  tangle,  spreading  over  the  unploughed 
common,  running  astray  in  the  grass-lined  ditch 
that  bordered  the  walk,  hiding  beneath  dusty-leaved 
plants  in  unsuspected  hollows,  and  breaking  out 
again  under  the  horses'  hoofs  in  the  sandy  street. 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  the  judge,  and  a  good-natured 
laugh  ran  round  the  group. 

"  Wall,  I  never !  "  ejaculated  the  elder  Burr,  but 
there  was  no  surprise  in  his  tone ;  it  expressed  rather 
the  helplessness  of  paternity. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  7 

The  boy  faced  them,  pressing  more  firmly  against 
the  bricks. 

"  There  ain't  nothin'  in  peanut-raisin'/'  he  said. 
"  It's  jest  farmin'  fur  crows.   I'd  rather  be  a  judge." 

The  judge  laughed  and  turned  from  him. 

"  Stick  to  the  soil,  my  boy,"  he  advised.  "  Stick 
to  the  soil.  It  is  the  best  thing  to  do.  But  if  you 
choose  the  second  best,  and  I  can  help  you,  I  will 
— I  will,  upon  my  word — Ah !  General,"  to  a  jovial- 
faced,  wide-girthed  gentleman  in  a  brown  linen 
coat,  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you  in  town.    Fine  weather !  " 

He  put  on  his  hat,  bowed  again,  and  went  on  his 
way. 

He  passed  slowly  along  in  the  spring  sunshine, 
his  feet  crunching  upon  the  gravel,  his  straight 
shadow  falling  upon  the  white  level  between  coarse 
fringes  of  wire-grass.  Far  up  the  town,  at  the 
street's  sudden  end,  where  it  was  lost  in  diverging 
roads,  there  was  visible,  as  through  a  film  of  bluish 
smoke,  the  verdigris-green  foliage  of  King's  Col- 
lege. Nearer  at  hand  the  solemn  cruciform  of  the 
old  church  was  steeped  in  shade,  the  high  bell-tower 
dropping  a  veil  of  English  ivy  as  it  rose  against 
the  sky.  Through  the  rusty  iron  gate  of  the  grave- 
yard the  marble  slabs  glimmered  beneath  submerg- 
ing grasses,  long,  pale,  tremulous  like  reeds. 

The  grass-grown  walk  beside  the  low  brick  wall  of 
the  churchyard  led  on  to  the  judge's  own  garden,  a 
square  enclosure,  laid  out  in  straight  vegetable  rows, 
marked  off  by  variegated  borders  of  flowering  plants 
— heartsease,  foxglove,  and  the  red-lidded  eyes  of 
scarlet  poppies.  Beyond  the  feathery  green  of  the 
asparagus  bed  there  was  a  bush  of  flowering  syringa, 


8  The  Voice  of  the  People 

another  at  the  beginning-  of  the  grass-trimmed  walk, 
and  yet  another  brushing  the  large  white  pillars  of 
the  square  front  porch — their  slender  sprays  blown 
from  sun  to  shade  like  fluttering  streamers  of  cream- 
coloured  ribbons.  On  the  other  side  there  were 
lilacs,  stately  and  leafy  and  bare  of  bloom,  save  for  a 
few  ashen-hued  bunches  lingering  late  amid  the 
heavy  foliage.  At  the  foot  of  the  garden  the  wall 
was  hidden  in  raspberry  vines,  weighty  with  ripen- 
ing fruit. 

The  judge  closed  the  gate  after  him  and  ascended 
the  steps.  It  was  not  until  he  had  crossed  the  wide 
hall  and  opened  the  door  of  his  study  that  he  heard 
the  patter  of  bare  feet,  and  turned  to  find  that  the 
boy  had  followed  him. 

For  an  instant  he  regarded  the  child  blankly ;  then 
his  hospitality  asserted  itself,  and  he  waved  him 
courteously  into  the  room. 

"  Walk  in,  walk  in,  and  take  a  seat.  I  am  at  your 
service." 

He  crossed  to  one  of  the  tall  windows,  unfasten- 
ing the  heavy  inside  shutters,  from  which  the  white 
paint  was  fast  peeling  away.  As  they  fell  back  a 
breeze  filled  the  room,  and  the  ivory  faces  of  mi- 
crophylla  roses  stared  across  the  deep  window-seat. 
The  place  was  airy  as  a  summer-house  and  odorous 
with  the  essence  of  roses  distilled  in  the  sunshine 
beyond.  On  the  high  plastered  walls,  above  the 
book-shelves,  rows  of  bygone  Bassetts  looked  down 
on  their  departed  possessions — stately  and  severe  in 
the  artificial  severity  of  periwigs  and  starched  ruffles. 
They  looked  down  with  immobile  eyes  and  the 
placid  monotony  of  past  fashions,  smiling  always  the 


The  Voice  of  the  People  9 

same  smile,  staring  always  at  the  same  spot  of  floor 
or  furniture. 

Below  them  the  room  was  still  hallowed  by  their 
touch.  They  asserted  themselves  in  the  quaint 
curves  of  the  rosewood  chairs,  in  the  blue  patterns 
upon  the  willow  bowls,  and  in  the  choice  lavender  of 
the  old  Wedgwood.  Their  handiwork  was  visible 
in  the  laborious  embroideries  of  the  fire-screen  near 
the  empty  grate,  and  the  spinet  in  one  unlighted 
corner  still  guarded  their  gay  and  amiable  airs. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  judge.  "  I  am  at  your  ser- 
vice." 

He  seated  himself  before  his  desk  of  hand-carved 
mahogany,  pushing  aside  the  papers  that  littered  its 
baize-covered  lid.  In  the  half-gloom  of  the  high- 
ceiled  room  his  face  assumed  the  look  of  a  portrait 
in  oils,  and  he  seemed  to  have  descended  from  his 
allotted  square  upon  the  plastered  wall,  to  be  but  a 
boldly  limned  composite  likeness  of  his  race,  await- 
ing the  last  touches  and  the  gilded  frame. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  "  he  asked  again,  his 
tone  preserving  its  unfailing  courtesy.     He  had  not*  * 

made  an  uncivil  remark  since  the  close  of  the  war — ' 
a  line  of  conduct  resulting  less  from  what  he  felt  to 
be  due  to  others  than  from  what  he  believed  to  be 
becoming  in  himself. 

The  boy  shifted  on  his  bare  feet.  In  the  old- 
timed  setting  of  the  furniture  he  was  an  alien — an 
anachronism — the  intrusion  of  the  hopelessly  mod- 
ern into  the  helplessly  past.  His  hair  made  a  rich 
spot  in  the  colourless  atmosphere,  and  it  seemed  to 
focus  the  incoming  light  from  the  unshuttered  win- 
dow, leaving  the  background  in  denser  shadow. 


io  The  Voice  of  the  People 

The  animation  of  his  features  jarred  the  serenity  of 
the  room.  His  profile  showed  gnome-like  against 
the  nodding  heads  of  the  microphylla  roses. 

"  There  ain't  nothin'  in  peanut-raisin'/'  he  said 
suddenly ;  "  I — I'd  ruther  be  a  judge." 

"  My  dear  boy !  "  exclaimed  the  judge,  and  fin- 
ished helplessly,  "  my  dear  boy — I — well — I " 

They  were  both  silent.  The  regular  droning  of 
the  old  clock  sounded  distinctly  in  the  stillness. 
The  perfume  of  roses,  mingling  with  the  musty 
scent  from  the  furniture,  borrowed  the  quality  of 
musk. 

The  child  was  breathing  heavily.  Suddenly  he 
dug  the  dirty  knuckles  of  one  fist  into  his  eyes. 

"  Don't  cry,"  began  the  judge.  "  Please  don't. 
Perhaps  you  would  like  to  run  out  and  play  with  my 
boy  Tom  ?  " 

"  I  warn't  cryin',"  said  the  child.  "  It  war  a  gnat." 

His  hand  left  his  eyes  and  returned  to  his  hat — 
a  wide-brimmed  harvest  hat,  with  a  shoestring  tied 
tightly  round  the  crown. 

When  the  judge  spoke  again  it  was  with  serious- 
ness. 

"  Nicholas — your  name  is  Nicholas,  isn't  it?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  Twelve,  sir." 

"  Can  you  read  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Write?" 

"  Y-e-s,  sir." 

"Spell?" 

The  child  hesitated.     "  I— I  can  spell— some." 


The  Voice  of  the  People  1 1 

"  Don't  you  know  it  is  a  serious  thing  to  be  a 
judge?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  must  be  a  lawyer  first." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  It  is  hard  work." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  sometimes  it's  no  better  than  farming  for 
crows." 

The  boy  shook  his  head.  "  It's  cleaner  work, 
sir." 

The  judge  laughed. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are  obstinate,  Nicholas,"  he  said, 
and  added :  "  Now,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  for 
you  ?  I  can't  make  you  a  judge.  It  took  me  fifty 
years  to  make  myself  one — a  third-rate  one  at 
that " 

"  I — I'd  1-i-k-e  to  take  a  bo-b-o-o-k,"  stammered 
the  boy. 

"  Dear  me !  "  said  the  judge  irritably,  "  dear  me !  " 

He  frowned,  his  gaze  skimming  his  well-filled 
shelves.  He  regretted  suddenly  that  he  had  spoken 
to  the  child  at  the  court-house.  He  would  never 
be  guilty  of  such  an  indiscretion  again.  Of  what 
could  he  have  been  thinking?  A  book!  Why 
didn't  he  ask  for  food — money — his  best  piece  of 
fluted  Royal  Worcester? 

Then  a  loud,  boyish  laugh  rang  in  from  the  gar- 
den, and  his  face  softened  suddenly.  In  the  sun- 
scorched,  honest-eyed  little  figure  before  him  he  saw 
his  own  boy — the  single  child  of  his  young  wife, 
who  was  lying  beneath  a  marble  slab  in  the  church- 
yard.    Her  face,  mild  and  Madonna-like,  glimmered 


12  The  Voice  of  the  People 

against  the  pallid  rose  leaves  in  the  deep  window- 
seat. 

He  turned  hastily  away. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  will  lend  you  one. 
Read  the  titles  carefully.  Don't  let  the  books  fall. 
Never  lay  them  face  downwards — and  don't  turn 
down  the  leaves  !  " 

The  boy  advanced  timidly  to  the  shelves  between 
the  southern  windows.  He  ran  his  hands  slowly 
along  the  lettered  backs,  his  lips  moving  as  he 
spelled  out  the  names. 

"  The  F-e-d-e-r-a-1-i-s-t,"  "  B-l-a-c-k-s-t-o-n-e-'s 
C-o-m-m-e-n-t-a-r-i-e-s,"  "  R-e-v-i-s-e-d  Sta-tu-tes 
of  the  U-ni-ted  Sta-tes." 

The  judge  drew  up  to  his  desk  and  looked  over  his 
letters.  Then  he  took  up  his  pen  and  wrote  several 
replies  in  his  fine,  flowing  handwriting.  He  had 
forgotten  the  boy,  when  he  felt  a  touch  upon  his 
arm. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  absently.  "Ah,  it  is 
you  ?  Yes,  let  me  see.  Why  !  you've  got  Sir  Henry 
Maine !  " 

The  boy  was  holding  the  book  in  both  hands.  As 
the  judge  laughed  he  flushed  nervously  and  turned 
towards  the  door. 

The  judge  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  watching  the 
small  figure  cross  the  room  and  disappear  into  the 
hall.  He  saw  the  tracks  of  dust  which  the  boy's  feet 
left  upon  the  smooth,  bare  floor,  but  he  was  not 
thinking  of  them.  Then,  as  the  child  went  out  upon 
the  porch,  he  started  up. 

"  Nicholas !  he  called,  "  don't  turn  down  the 
leaves !  " 


II 


A  facetious  stranger  once  remarked  that  Kings- 
borough  dozed  through  the  present  to  dream  of  the 
past  and  found  the  future  a  nightmare.  Had  he 
been  other  than  a  stranger,  he  would,  perhaps,  have 
added  that  Kingsborough's  proudest  boast  was  that 
she  had  been  and  was  not — a  distinction  giving  her 
preeminence  over  certain  cities  whose  charters  were 
not  received  from  royal  grants — cities  priding  them- 
selves not  only  upon  a  multiplicity  of  streets,  but 
upon  the  more  plebeian  fact  that  the  feet  of  their 
young  men  followed  the  offending  thoroughfares 
to  the  undignified  music  of  the  march  of  progress. 

But,  whatever  might  be  said  of  places  that  shall 
be  nameless,  it  was  otherwise  with  Kingsborough. 
Kingsborough  was  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and 
forever.  She  who  had  feasted  royal  governors, 
staked  and  lost  upon  Colonial  races,  and  exploded 
like  an  ignited  powder-horn  in  the  cause  of  Amer- 
ican independence,  was  still  superbly  conscious  of 
the  honours  which  had  been  hers.  Her  governors 
were  no  longer  royal,  nor  did  she  feast  them;  her 
races  were  run  by  fleet-footed  coloured  urchins  on 
the  court-house  green;  her  powder-magazine  had 
evolved  through  differentiation  from  a  stable  into 
a  church;  but  Kingsborough  clung  to  her  amiable 
habits.  Travellers  still  arrived  at  the  landing  stage 
some  several  miles  distant  and  were  driven  over  all 
but  impassable  roads  to  the  town.     The  eastern  wall 


14  The  Voice  of  the  People 

of  the  court-house  still  bore  the  sign  "  England 
Street,"  though  the  street  had  vanished  beneath  en- 
croaching buttercups,  and  the  implied  loyalty  had 
.'  been  found  wanting.  Kingsborough  juries  still  sat 
in  their  original  semicircle,  with  their  backs  to  the 
judge  and  their  faces,  presumably,  to  the  law; 
Kingsborough  farmers  still  marketed  their  small 
truck  in  the  street  called  after  the  Duke  of  Glouces- 
ter; and  Kingsborough  cows  still  roamed  at  will 
over  the  vaults  in  the  churchyard.  In  time  trivial 
changes  would  come  to  pass.  Tourists  would  ar- 
rive with  the  railroad;  the  powder-magazine  would 
turn  from  a  church  into  a  museum;  gardens  would 
decay  and  ancient  elms  would  fall,  but  the  farmers 
and  the  cows  would  not  be  missed  from  their  accus- 
tomed haunts.  On  the  hospitable  thresholds  of 
"  general  "  stores  battle-scarred  veterans  of  the  war 
between  the  States  dealt  in  victorious  reminiscences 
of  vanquishment.  They  had  fought  well,  they  had 
fallen  silently,  and  they  had  risen  without  bitterness. 
For  the  people  of  Kingsborough  had  opened  their 
doors  to  wounded  foes  while  the  battle  raged 
through  their  streets,  succouring  while  they  resisted. 
They  lived  easily  and  they  died  hard,  but  when  death 
came  they  met  it,  not  in  grim  Puritanism,  but  with 
a  laugh  upon  the  lips.  They  made  a  joy  of  life  while 
it  was  possible,  and  when  that  ceased  to  be,  they  did 
the  next  best  thing  and  made  a  friend  of  death.  Long 
ago  theirs  had  been  the  first  part  in  Virginia,  and,  as 
they  still  believed,  theirs  had  been  also  the  centre  of 
all  things.  Now  the  high  places  were  laid  low,  and 
the  greatness  had  passed  as  a  trumpet  that  is  blown. 
Kingsborough  persisted  still,  but  it  persisted  eva- 


s 


The  Voice  of  the  People  15 

sively,  hovering,  as  it  were,  upon  the  outskirts  of 
modern  advancement.  And  the  outside  world  took 
note  only  when  it  made  tours  to  historic  strong- 
holds, or  sent  those  of  itself  that  were  adjudged  in- 
sane to  the  hospitable  shelter  of  the  asylum  upon 
the  hill. 

It  was  afternoon,  and  Kingsborough  was  asleep. 

Along  the  verdurous,  gray  lanes  the  houses 
seemed  abandoned,  shuttered,  filled  with  shade. 
From  the  court-house  green  came  the  chime  of 
cow-bells  rising  and  falling  in  slow  waves  of  sound. 
A  spotted  calf  stood  bleating  in  the  crooked  foot- 
path, which  traversed  diagonally  the  waste  of  butter- 
cups like  a  white  seam  in  a  cloth  of  gold.  Against 
the  arching  sky  rose  the  bell-tower  of  the  grim  old 
church,  where  the  sparrows  twittered  in  the  melan- 
choly gables  and  the  startled  face  of  the  stationary 
clock  stared  blankly  above  the  ivied  walls.  Farther 
away,  at  the  end  of  a  wavering  lane,  slanted  the 
shadow  of  the  insane  asylum. 

Across  the  green  the  houses  were  set  in  surround- 
ing gardens  like  cards  in  bouquets  of  mixed  blos- 
soms. They  were  of  frame  for  the  most  part,  with 
shingled  roofs  and  small,  square  windows  hidden 
beneath  climbing  roses.  On  one  of  the  long  veran- 
das a  sleeping  girl  lay  in  a  hammock,  a  gray  cat  at 
her  feet.  No  sound  came  from  the  house  behind 
her,  but  a  breeze  blew  through  the  dim  hall,  flutter- 
ing the  folds  of  her  dress.  Beyond  the  adjoining 
garden  a  lady  in  mourning  entered  a  gate  where 
honeysuckle  grew,  and  above,  on  the  low-dormered 
roof,  a  white  pigeon  sat  preening  its  feathers.  Up 
the  main  street,  where  a  few  sunken  bricks  of  a 


1 6  The  Voice  of  the  People 

vanished  pavement  were  still  visible,  an  old  negro 
woman,  sitting  on  the  stone  before  her  cabin,  lighted 
her  replenished  pipe  with  a  taper,  and  leaned  back, 
smoking,  in  the  doorway,  her  scarlet  handkerchief 
making  a  spot  of  colour  on  the  dull  background. 

The  sun  was  still  high  when  the  judge  came  out 
upon  his  porch,  a  smile  of  indecision  on  his  face  and 
his  hat  in  his  hand.  Pausing  upon  the  topmost 
step,  he  cast  an  uncertain  glance  sideways  at  the 
walk  leading  past  the  church,  and  then  looked 
straight  ahead  through  the  avenue  of  maples,  which 
began  at  the  smaller  green  facing  the  ancient  site 
of  the  governor's  palace  and  skirted  the  length  of 
the  larger  one,  which  took  its  name  from  the  court- 
house. At  last  he  descended  the  steps  with  his  leis- 
urely tread,  turning  at  the  gate  to  throw  a  remon- 
strance to  an  old  negro  whose  black  face  was  framed 
in  the  library  window. 

"  Now,  Caesar,  didn't  I " 

"  Lord,  Marse  George,  dis  yer  washed-out  blue 
bowl,  wid  de  little  white  critters  sprawlin'  over  it, 
done  come  ter  pieces " 

"  Now,  Caesar,  haven't  I  told  you  twenty  times  to 
let  Delilah  wash  my  Wedgwood?  " 

"  Fo'  de  Lord,  Marse  George,  I  ain't  breck  hit. 
I  uz  des'  hol'n  it  in  bofe  my  han's  same  es  I'se  hol'n 
dis  yer  broom,  w'en  it  come  right  ter  part.  I  declar 
'twarn  my  fault,  Marse  George,  'twarn  nobody's 
fault  'cep'n  hit's  own." 

The  judge  closed  the  gate  and  waved  the  face 
from  the  window. 

"  Go  about  your  business,  Caesar,"  he  said,  "  and 
keep  your  hands  off  my  china " 


The  Voice  of  the  People  1 7 

Then  his  tone  lost  its  asperity  as  he  held  out  his 
hands  to  a  pretty  girl  who  was  coming  across  the 
green. 

"  So  you  are  back  from  school,  Miss  Juliet,"  he 
said  gallantly.  "  I  was  telling  your  mother  only 
yesterday  that  I  didn't  approve  of  sending  our  fairest 
products  away  from  Kingsborough.  It  wasn't  done 
in  my  day.  Then  the  prettiest  girls  stayed  at  home 
and  gave  our  young  fellows  a  chance." 

The  girl  shook  her  head  until  the  blue  ribbons  on 
her  straw  hat  fluttered  in  the  wind,  and  blushed  un- 
til her  soft  eyes  were  like  forget-me-nots  set  in  rose 
leaves.  She  possessed  a  serene,  luminous  beauty, 
which  became  intensified  beneath  the  gaze  of  the 
beholder. 

"  I  have  come  back  for  good,  now,"  she  answered 
in  a  serious  sweetness  of  voice;  "  and  I  am  out" this 
afternoon  looking  up  my  Sunday-school  class.  The 
children  have  scattered  sadly.  You  will  let  me  have 
Tom  again,  won't  you?  " 

"  Have  Tom !  Why,  you  may  have  him  every 
day  and  Sunday  too — the  lucky  scamp !  Ah,  I  only 
wish  I  were  a  boy  again,  with  a  soul  worth  saving 
and  such  a  pair  of  eyes  in  search  of  it." 

The  girl  dimpled  into  a  smile  and  flushed  to  her 
low,  white  forehead,  on  which  the  soft  hair  was 
smoothly  parted  before  it  broke  into  sunny  curls 
about  the  temples.  She  exhaled  an  atmosphere  of 
gentleness  mixed  with  a  saintly  coquetry,  which  pro- 
duced an  impression  at  once  human  and  divine,  such 
as  one  receives  from  the  sight  of  a  rose  in  a  Bible 
or  a  curl  in  the  hair  of  a  saint.  The  judge  looked  at 
her  warmly,  sighing  half  happily,  half  regretfully. 


1 8  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  And  to  think  that  the  young  rogues  don't  realise 
their  blessings,"  he  said.  "  There's  not  one  of  them 
that  wouldn't  rather  be  off  fishing  than  learn  his 
catechism.  Ah,  in  my  day  things  were  different — 
things  were  different." 

"  Were  you  very  pious,  sir?  "  asked  the  girl  with 
a  flash  of  laughter. 

The  judge  shook  his  stick  playfully. 

"  I  can't  tell  tales,"  he  answered,  "  but  in  my  day 
we  should  have  taken  more  than  the  catechism  at 
your  bidding,  my  dear.  When  your  father  was 
courting  your  mother — and  she  was  like  you, 
though  she  hadn't  your  eyes,  or  your  face,  for  that 
matter — he  went  into  her  Bible  class,  though  he  was 
at  least  five  and  twenty  and  the  others  were  small 
boys  under  ten.  She  was  a  sad  flirt,  and  she  led  him 
a  dance." 

"  He  liked  it,"  said  the  girl.  "  But,  if  you  will 
give  my  message  to  Tom,  I  won't  come  in.  I  am 
looking  for  Dudley  Webb,  and  I  see  his  mother  at 
her  gate.  Good-bye!  Be  sure  and  tell  Tom  to 
come  Sunday." 

She  nodded  brightly,  lifted  her  muslin  skirts,  and 
recrossed  the  street.  The  judge  watched  her  until 
the  flutter  of  her  white  dress  vanished  down  the  lane 
of  maples;  then  he  turned  to  speak  to  the  occupants 
of  a  carriage  that  had  drawn  up  to  the  sidewalk. 

The  vehicle  was  of  an  old-fashioned  make,  bare  of 
varnish,  with  rickety,  mud-splashed  wheels  and 
rusty  springs.  It  was  drawn  by  an  ill-matched  pair 
of  horses  and  driven  by  a  lame  coloured  boy,  who 
carried  a  peeled  hickory  branch  for  a  whip. 

"  Ah,  General  Battle,"  said  the  judge  to  a  stout 


The  Voice  of  the  People  19 

gentleman  with  a  red  face  and  an  expansive  shirt 
front  from  which  the  collar  had  wilted  away;  "  fine 
afternoon  !  Is  that  Eugenia?  "  to  a  little  girl  of 
seven  or  eight  years,  with  a  puppy  of  the  pointer 
breed  in  her  arms,  and  "  How  are  you,  Sampson?  " 
to  the  coloured  driver. 

The  three  greeted  him  simultaneously,  whereupon 
he  leaned  forward,  resting  his  hand  upon  the  side  of 
the  carriage. 

"  The  young  folks  are  growing  up,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  just  seen  Juliet  Burwell,  and,  on  my  life,  she 
gets  prettier  every  day.     We  shan't  keep  her  long." 

"  Keep  her!  "  replied  the  general  vigorously,  wip- 
ing his  large  face  with  a  large  pocket  handkerchief. 
"  Keep  her!  If  I  were  thirty  years  younger,  you 
shouldn't  keep  her  a  day — not  a  day,  sir." 

The  little  girl  looked  up  gravely  from  the  corner 
of  the  seat,  tossing  her  short,  dark  plait  from  her 
shoulder.  "  What  would  you  do  with  her,  papa?  " 
she  asked.  "  We've  got  no  place  to  put  her  at 
home." 

The  general  threw  back  his  great  head  and 
laughed  till  his  wide  girth  shook  like  a  bag  of  meal. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  worry,  Eugie,"  he  said.  "  I'm 
not  the  man  I  used  to  be.  She  wouldn't  look  at  me. 
Bless  your  heart,  she  wouldn't  look  at  me  if  I  asked 
her " 

Eugenia  clasped  her  puppy  closer  and  turned  her 
eyes  upon  her  father's  jovial  face. 

"  I  don't  see  how  she  could  help  it  if  you  stood  in 
front  of  her,"  she  answered  gravely,  in  a  voice  rich 
with  the  blending  of  negro  intonations. 

The    general    shook    again    until    the    carriage 


20  The  Voice  of  the  People 

creaked  on  its  rusty  springs,  and  the  coloured  boy, 
Sampson,  let  the  reins  fall  and  joined  in  the  hilar- 
ity. 

"  She  won't  let  me  so  much  as  look  at  a  girl!  "  ex- 
claimed the  general  delightedly,  stooping  to  recover 
the  brown  linen  lap  robe  which  had  slipped  from  his 
knees.  "  She's  as  jealous  as  if  I  were  twenty  and 
had  a  score  of  sweethearts." 

The  little  girl  did  not  reply,  but  she  flushed  an- 
grily. "  Don't,  precious,"  she  said  to  the  puppy, 
who  was  licking  her  cheek  with  his  warm,  red 
tongue. 

"  What  have  you  named  him,  Eugie?  "  asked  the 
judge,  changing  the  subject  with  that  gracious  tact 
which  was  mindful  of  the  least  emergency.  "  He  is 
nicely  marked,  I  see." 

"  I  call  him  Jim,"  replied  Eugenia.  She  spoke 
gravely,  and  the  gravity  contrasted  oddly  with  the 
animation  of  her  features.  "  But  his  real  name  is 
James  Burwell  Battle.  Bernard  and  I  christened 
him  in  the  spring-house — so  he'll  go  to  heaven." 

"  Cap'n  Burwell  gave  him  to  her,  you  know,"  ex- 
plained the  general,  who  laughed  whenever  his 
daughter  spoke,  as  if  the  fact  of  her  talking  at  all 
was  a  source  of  amazement  to  him,  "  and  she  hasn't 
let  go  of  him  since  she  got  him.  By  the  way, 
Judge,  you  have  a  first-rate  garden  spot.  I  hear 
your  asparagus  is  the  finest  in  town.  Ours  is  very 
poor  this  year.  I  must  have  a  new  bed  made  before 
next  season.     Ah,  what  is  it,  daughter?  " 

"  You've  forgotten  to  buy  the  sugar,"  said  Eu- 
genia, "  and  Aunt  Chris  can't  put  up  her  preserves. 
And  you  told  me  to  remind  you  of  the  whip " 


The  Voice  of  the  People  21 

"  Bless  your  heart,  so  I  did.  Sampson  lost  that 
whip  a  month  ago,  and  I've  never  remembered  it 
yet.     Well,  good-day — good-day." 

The  judge  raised  his  hat  with  a  stately  inclination; 
the  general  nodded  good-naturedly,  still  grasping 
the  linen  robe  with  his  plump,  red  hand;  and  the  car- 
riage jolted  along  the  green  and  disappeared  behind 
the  glazed  brick  walls  of  the  church. 

The  judge  regarded  his  walking-stick  meditatively 
for  a  moment,  and  continued  his  way.  The  smile 
with  which  he  had  followed  the  vanishing  figure  of 
Juliet  Burwell  returned  to  his  face,  and  his  features 
softened  from  their  usual  chilly  serenity. 

He  had  gone  but  a  short  distance  and  was  passing 
the  iron  gate  of  the  churchyard,  when  the  droning 
of  a  voice  came  to  him,  and  looking  beyond  the  bars, 
he  saw  little  Nicholas  Burr  lying  at  full  length  upon 
a  marble  slab,  his  head  in  his  hands  and  his  feet 
waving  in  the  air. 

Entering  the  gate,  the  judge  followed  the  walk  of 
moss-grown  stones  leading  to  the  church  steps,  and 
paused  within  hearing  of  the  voice,  which  went  on 
in  an  abstracted  drawl. 

"  The  most  cel-e-bra-ted  sys-tem  of  juris-pru- 
dence  known  to  the  world  begins,  as  it  ends,  with  a 

code "     He  was  not  reading,  for  the  book  was 

closed.  He  seemed  rather  to  be  repeating  over  and 
over  again  words  which  had  been  committed  to 
memory. 

"  With  a  code.  From  the  commencement  to  the 
close  of  its  history,  the  ex-posi-tors  of  Ro-man  Law 
con-sistently  em-ployed  lan-guage  which  implied 
that  the  body  of  their  sys-tem  rested  on  the  twelve 


22  The  Voice  of  the  People 

De-cem-viral  Tables — Dec-em-vi-ral — De-cem-vi- 
ral  Tables." 

"Bless  my  soul!"  said  the  judge.  The  boy 
glanced  up,  blushed,  and  would  have  risen,  but  the 
judge  waved  him  back. 

"  No — no,  don't  get  up.  I  heard  you  as  I  was 
going  by.     What  are  you  doing?  " 

"  Learnin'." 

"Learning!  Dear  me!  What  do  you  mean  by 
learning?  " 

"I'm  learnin'  by  heart,  sir — and — and,  if  you  don't 
mind,  sir,  what  does  j-u-r-i-s-p-r-u-d-e-n-c-e 
mean?  " 

The  judge  started,  returning  the  boy's  eager  gaze 
with  one  of  kindly  perplexity. 

"Bless  my  soul!"  he  said  again.  "You  aren't 
trying  to  understand  that,  are  you?  " 

The  boy  grew  scarlet  and  his  lips  trembled. 
"  No,  sir,"  he  answered.  "  I'm  jest  learnin'  it 
now.  I'll  know  what  it  means  when  I'm  big- 
ger " 

"And  you  expect  to  remember  it?"  asked  the 
judge. 

"  I  don't  never  forget,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  exclaimed  the  judge  for  the 
third  time. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  looking  silently  down 
upon  the  marble  slab  with  its  defaced  lettering.  Of 
the  wordy  epitaph  which  had  once  redounded  to  the 
honour  of  the  bones  beneath  there  remained  only 
the  words  "  who  departed,"  but  he  read  these  with 
a  long  abstracted  gaze. 

"  Let  me  see,"  he  said  at  last,  speaking  with  his 


The  Voice  of  the  People  23 

accustomed  dignity.  "  Did  you  ever  go  to  school, 
Nicholas?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"When?" 

"  I  went  'most  three  winters,  sir,  but  I  had  to  leave 
off  on  o'count  o'  pa's  not  havin'  any  hand  'cep'n 
me." 

The  judge  smiled. 

"  Ah,  well,"  he  returned.  "  We'll  see  if  you  can't 
begin  again.  My  boy  has  a  tutor,  you  know,  and 
his  playmates  come  to  study  with  him.  He's  about 
your  age,  and  it  will  give  you  a  start.  Come  in  to- 
morrow at  nine,  and  we'll  talk  it  over.  No,  don't 
get  up.     I  am  going." 

And  he  passed  out  of  the  churchyard,  closing 
the  heavy  gate  with  a  metallic  clang.  Nicholas  lay 
on  the  marble  slab,  but  the  book  slipped  from  his 
hands,  and  he  gazed  straight  before  him  at  the  oriel 
window,  where  the  ivy  was  tremulous  with  the  shin- 
ing bodies  and  clamorous  voices  of  nesting  sparrows. 
They  darted  swiftly  from  gable  to  gable,  filling  the 
air  with  shrill  sounds  of  discord,  and  endowing  with 
animation  the  inanimate  pile,  wrapping  the  dead 
bricks  in  a  living  shroud. 

On  the  other  side  swept  the  long,  colourless 
grasses,  rippling  in  faint  waves  like  a  still  lake  that 
reflects  the  sunshine  and  swaying  lightly  beneath 
myriads  of  gauzy-winged  bees  that  flashed  with  a 
droning  noise  from  blade  to  blade,  to  find  rest  in  the 
yellow  hearts  of  the  damask  roses.  Across  the  white 
vaults  and  the  low-lying  marble  slabs  innumerable 
shadows  chased,  and  from  above  the  gnarled  old 
locust  trees  swept  a  fringe  of  vivid  green,  the  slender 


24  The  Voice  of  the  People 

blossoms  hanging  in  tassels  from  the  branches'  ends, 
and  filling  the  air  with  a  soft  and  ceaseless  rain  of 
fragrant  petals.  Pale  as  the  ghosts  of  dead  leaves, 
they  fell  always,  fluttering  night  and  day  from  the 
twisted  boughs,  settling  in  creamy  flakes  upon  the 
bending  grasses,  and  outlining  in  delicate  tracery  the 
epitaphs  upon  the  discoloured  marbles. 

Nicholas  lay  with  wide-open  eyes,  looking  up  at 
the  oriel  window  where  the  sparrows  twittered.  On 
a  near  vault  a  catbird  poised  for  an  instant,  survey- 
ing him  with  bright,  distrustful  eyes.  Then,  with 
an  impetuous  flutter  of  slate-gray  wings,  it  fled  to 
the  poisonous  oak  on  the  far  brick  wall.  A  red-and- 
white  cow,  passing  along  the  lane  outside,  stopped 
before  the  closed  gate,  and  stood  philosophically 
chewing  the  cud  as  she  looked  within  through  im- 
peding bars.  From  the  judge's  garden  came  the 
faint  sound  of  a  negro  voice  as  the  old  gardener 
weeded  the  vegetables.  Nicholas  rolled  over  again 
and  faced  the  outstretched  wings  of  the  noseless 
angel  on  the  nearest  tombstone.  The  loss  of  the 
nose  had  distorted  the  marble  smile  into  a  grimace, 
which  gave  a  leer  to  the  remaining  features.  As  the 
boy  looked  at  it  he  laughed  suddenly,  and  his  voice 
startled  him  amid  the  droning  of  bees.  Then  he  sat 
up  and  glanced  at  his  brier-scratched  feet  stretched 
upon  the  slab,  and  laughed  again  for  the  sheer  joy 
of  discord. 


Ill 

Nicholas  followed  the  main  street  to  its  sudden 
end  at  King's  College,  and  turned  into  one  of  the 
diverging  ways  which  skirted  the  whitewashed 
plank  fence  of  the  college  grounds,  and  led  to  what 
was  known  in  the  neighbourhood  as  the  Old  Stage 
Road.  Passing  a  straggling  group  of  negro  cabins, 
it  stretched,  naked,  bleached,  and  barren,  for  a  good 
half-mile,  dividing  with  its  sandy  length  the  low- 
lying  fields,  which  were  sown  on  the  one  side  in  a 
sparse  crop  of  grain  and  on  the  other  in  the  rich 
leaves  and  round  pink  heads  of  ripening  clover.  At 
the  end  of  the  half-mile  the  road  ascended  a  slight 
elevation,  and  the  character  of  the  soil  changed 
abruptly  into  clay  of  vivid  red,  which,  extending 
a  dozen  yards  up  the  rain-washed  hillside,  appeared, 
in  a  general  view  of  the  landscape,  like  the  scarlet 
tongue  protruding  from  the  silvery  body  of  a  ser- 
pent. 

Far  ahead  to  the  right  of  the  highway  and  beyond 
the  thinly  sown  wheat  a  stretch  of  pine  woodland 
was  darkly  limned  against  the  western  horizon, 
standing  a  gloomy  advance  guard  of  the  shadows  of 
the  night.  At  its  foot  the  newer  green  of  the  late 
spring  foliage  took  a  frivolous  aspect,  presenting 
the  effect  of  deep-tinted  foam  breaking  against  the 
impenetrable  mass  of  darkness. 

The  boy  trudged  resolutely  along  the  sandy  road. 


26  The  Voice  of  the  People 

reaching  at  intervals  to  grasp  handfuls  of  sassafras 
leaves  from  the  bushes  beside  the  way.  From  the 
ditch  on  the  left  a  brown  toad  hopped  slowly  into 
the  dust  of  the  road.  On  the  worm-eaten  rails  of  the 
fence,  on  the  other  side,  a  gray  lizard  glided  swiftly 
like  a  stealthy  shadow  of  the  leaves  of  the  poisonous 
oak. 

Nicholas  picked  up  a  stone  from  the  roadside 
and  aimed  it  at  the  slimy  little  body,  but  his  throw 
erred,  and  the  missile  fell  harmlessly  into  the  wheat 
field  beyond,  startling  a  blackbird  with  scarlet 
marks,  which  soared  suddenly  above  the  bearded 
grain  and  vanished,  with  a  tremulous  cry  and 
a  flame  of  outstretched  wings,  into  the  distant 
wood. 

The  sun  had  gone  down  behind  the  pines  and  a 
warm  mist  steamed  up  from  the  cooling  earth,  con- 
densing into  heavy  dew  on  the  dusty  leaves  of  the 
plants  in  the  ditch.  Above  the  lowering  pines  the 
horizon  burned  to  a  deep  scarlet,  like  an  inverted 
brazier  at  red  heat,  and  one  gigantic  tree,  rising 
beyond  the  jagged  line  of  the  forest,  was  silhouetted 
sharply  against  the  enkindled  clouds.  Suddenly, 
from  the  shadows  of  the  long  road,  a  voice  rose 
plaintively.  It  was  rich  and  deep  and  colourific,  and 
it  seemed  to  hover  close  to  the  warmth  of  the  earth, 
weighed  down  by  its  animal  melody.  It  had  mingled 
so  subtly  with  the  stillness  that  it  was  as  much  a 
part  of  nature  as  the  cry  of  a  whip-poor-will  be- 
yond the  thicket  or  the  sunset  in  the  pine-guarded 
west.  At  first  it  came  faintly,  and  the  words  were 
lost,  but  as  Nicholas  gained  upon  the  singer  he 
caught  more  clearly  the  air  and  the  song. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  27 

"  Oh,  de  Ark  hit  came  ter  res' 

On-de-hill, 
Oh,  de  Ark  hit  came  ter  res' 

On-de-hill, 
En'  dar  ole  Noah  stood, 
En'  spread  his  haft's  abroad, 
Er  sacri-fice  ter- Gawd 

On-de-hill." 

Nicholas  quickened  his  pace  into  a  run  and,  in  a 
moment,  saw  the  stooping  figure  of  an  old  negro 
toiling  up  the  red  clay  hillside,  a  staff  in  his  hand  and 
a  bag  of  meal  on  his  shoulder.  In  the  vivid  light  of 
the  sunset  his  stature  was  exaggerated  in  size,  giv- 
ing him  an  appearance  at  once  picturesque  and 
pathetic — softening  his  rugged  outline  and  magni- 
fying the  distortion  of  age. 

As  he  ascended  the  gradual  incline  he  planted 
his  staff  firmly  in  the  soil,  shifting  his  bag  from  side 
to  side  and  uttering  inaudible  grunts  in  the  pauses 
of  his  song. 

"  En'  dar,  mid  flame  en  smoke, 
De  great  Jehovah  s-poke, 
En'  awftil  thunder  b-roke, 
On-de-hill." 

'  Uncle  Iah-t"  called  the  boy  sharply.  The  old 
man  lowered  the  bag  from  his  shoulder  and  turned 
slowly  round. 

"  Who  dat  ?  "  he  demanded  severely.  "  Ain't  I 
done  tell  you  dar  ain'  no  ha'nts  'long  dis  yer  road  ?  " 

"  It's  me,  Uncle  Ish,"  said  the  boy.  "  It's  Nick 
Burr.     I  heard  you  singing  a  long  ways  off." 

"  Den  what  you  want  ter  go  a-hollerin'  en  a-steal- 
in'  up  on  er  ole  nigger  fer  des'  'bout  sundown  ?  " 


28  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  But,  Uncle  Ish,  I  didn't  mean  to  scare  you.  I 
jest  heard " 

"  Skeer !  Who  dat  you  been  skeerin'  ?  Ain't  I 
done  tole  you  dar  ain'  no  ha'nts  round  dese  parts? 
What  I  gwine  ter  be  skeered  fer  uv  er  little  no  'count 
white  trash  dat  ain'  never  own  er  nigger  in  dere 
life?     Who  you  done  sheer  dis  time?  " 

He  picked  up  his  bag,  slung  it  over  his  shoulder 
and  went  on  his  way,  the  boy  trotting  beside  him. 
For  a  time  the  old  man  muttered  angrily  beneath 
his  breath,  and  then,  becoming  mollified  by  the  boy's 
silence,  he  looked  kindly  down  on  the  small  red 
head  at  his  elbow. 

"  You  ain't  said  howdy,  honey,"  he  remarked  in 
a  fault-finding  tone.  "  Dar  ain'  no  manners  dese 
days,  nohow.  Dey  ain'  no  manners  en  dey  ain' 
no  nuffin'.  De  niggers,  dey  is  g win e _pIunL-QUter 
dey  heads,  en  de  po"  white  trash  dey's  gwine  plum 
outer  dey  places." 

lie  looked  at  Nicholas,  who  flinched  and  hung  his 
head. 

"  Dar  ain'  nobody  lef  to  keep  'em  ter  dey  places, 
no  mo'.  In  Ole  Miss'  time  der  wa'nt  no  traipsin' 
roun'  er  niggers  en  intermixin'  up  er  de  quality  en 
de  trash.  Ole  Miss,  she  des'  pint  out  der  place  en 
dey  stay  dar.  She  ain'  never  stomach  noner  der 
high-ferlutin'  doin's  roun'  her.  She  know  whar  she 
b'long  en  she  know  whar  dey  b'long.  Bless  yo' 
life,  Ole  Miss  wuz  dat  perticklar  she  wouldn't  drink 
arter  Ole  Marster,  hisself,  'thout  renchin'  out  de 
gow'd  twel  t'wuz  mos'  bruck  off  de  handle." 

He  sighed  and  shifted  his  bag. 

"  Ef  Ole  Miss  'ud  been  yer  thoo'  dis  las'  war,  dar 


The  Voice  of  the  People  29 

wouldn't  er  been  no  slue-footed  Yankees  a-foolin' 
roun'  her  parlour.  She'd  uv  up  en  show'd  'em  de 
do' " 

"  Are  all  Yankees  slue-footed,  Uncle  Ish  ?  " 

"  All  dose  I  seed,  honey — des'  es  slue-footed.  En 
dar  wuz  Miss  Chris'  en  ole  Miss  Grissel  a-makin' 
up  ter  'em,  en  a-layin'  out  er  demselves  fer  'em  en 
a-spreadin'  uv  de  table,  des'  de  same  es  ef  dey  went 
straight  on  dey  toes.  Dar  wan't  much  sense  in  dat 
ar  war,  nohow,  an'  I  ain'  never  knowed  yit  what 
'twuz  dey  fit  about.  Hit  wuz  des'  a-hidin'  en  a- 
teckin'  ter  de  bushes,  en  a-hidin'  agin,  en  den  a- 
feastin',  en  a-curtsin'  ter  de  Yankees.  Dar  wan't 
no  sense  in  it,  no  ways  hits  put,  but  Ise  heered  Marse 
Tom  'low  hit  wuz  a  civil  war,  en  dat's  what  it  wuz. 
When  de  Yankees  come  a-ridin'  up  en  a-reinin'  in 
dere  hosses  befo'  de  front  po'ch,  en  Miss  Chris  come 
out  a-smilin'  en  a-axin'  howdy,  en  den  dey  stan'  dar 
a-bowin'  en  a-scrapin',  hit  wuz  des'  es  civil  es  ef 
dey'd  come  a-co'tin'.  But  Ole  Miss  wuz  dead  en 
buried,  she  wuz." 

Nicholas  shook  his  head  without  speaking.  There 
was  a  shade  of  consolation  in  the  thought  that  the 
awful  "  Ole  Miss  "  was  below  the  earth  and  beyond 
the  possibility  of  pointing  out  his  place. 

The  brazier  in  the  west  snapped  asunder  suddenly, 
and  a  single  forked  flame  shot  above  the  jagged 
pines  and  went  out  in  the  dove-coloured  clouds.  In 
a  huge  oak  beyond  the  rail  fence  there  was  a  harsh 
rustling  of  wings  where  a  flock  of  buzzards  settled  to 
roost. 

"  Yes,  Lord,  she  wuz  dead  en  buried,"  repeated 
Uncle  Ish  slowly.     "  En  dar  ain'  none  like  her  lef 


30  The  Voice  ot  the  People 

roun'  yer  now.  Dis  yer  little  Euginny  is  des'  de 
spit  er  her  ma,  en  it  'ud  mek  Ole  Miss  tu'n  in  her 
grave  ter  hear  tell  'bout  her  gwines  on.  De  quality 
en  de  po'  folks  is  all  de  same  ter  her.  She  ain'  no 
mo'  un  inspecter  er  pussons  den  de  Lord  is — ef  Ole 
Miss  wuz  'live,  I  reckon  she'd  lam  'er  twel  she  wuz 
black  en  blue " 

"  Is  she  so  very  bad  ?  "  asked  Nicholas  in  an  awed 
voice. 

Uncle  Ish  turned  upon  him  reprovingly. 

"  Bad  !  "  he  repeated.  "  Who  gwine  call  Ole 
Miss'  gran'chile  bad?  I  don't  reckon  it's  dese  yer 
new  come  folks  es  hev  des'  sprouted  outer  de  dut 
es  is  gwine  ter " 

At  this  instant  the  sound  of  a  vehicle  reached 
them,  gaining  upon  them  from  the  direction  of 
Kingsborough,  and  they  fell  to  one  side  of  the  road, 
leaving  room  for  the  horses  to  pass.  It  was  the 
Battle  carriage,  rolling  heavily  on  its  aged  wheels 
and  creaking  beneath  the  general's  weight. 

"  Howdy,  Marse  Tom !  "  called  Uncle  Ishmael. 
The  general  responded  good-naturedly,  and  the  car- 
riage passed  on,  but,  before  turning  into  the  branch 
road  a  few  yards  ahead,  it  came  to  a  standstill,  and 
the  bright,  decisive  voice  of  the  little  girl  floated 
back. 

"  Uncle  Ish — I  say,  Uncle  Ish,  don't  you  want  to 
ride?" 

"  Dar,  now !  "  cried  Uncle  Ishmael  exultantly. 
"  Ain't  I  tell  you  she  wuz  plum  crazy  ?  What  she 
doin'  a-peckin'  up  en  ole  nigger  like  I  is?  " 

He  hastened  his  steps  and  scrambled  into  the  seat 
beside  the  driver,  settling  his  bag  between  his  knees ; 


The  Voice  of  the  People  31 

and,  with  a  flick  of  the  peeled  hickory  whip,  the  car- 
riage rolled  into  the  branch  road  and  disappeared, 
scattering  a  whirl  of  mud  drops  as  it  splashed 
through  the  shallow  puddles  which  lingered  in  the 
dryest  season  beneath  the  heavy  shade  of  the  wood. 

Nicholas  turned  into  the  branch  road  also,  for  the 
poor  lands  of  his  father  adjoined  the  slightly  richer 
ones  of  the  Battles.  He  felt  tired  and  a  little  lonely, 
and  he  wished  suddenly  that  a  friendly  cart  would 
come  along  in  which  he  might  ride  the  remainder 
of  the  way.  Between  the  densely  wooded  thicket 
on  either  side,  the  road  looked  dark  and  solemn.  It 
was  spread  with  a  rotting  carpet  of  last  year's 
leaves,  soft  and  damp  under  foot,  and  polished  into 
shining  tracks  in  the  ruts  left  by  passing  wheels. 
Through  the  dusk  the  ghostly  bodies  of  beech  trees 
stood  out  distinctly  from  the  surrounding  wood,  as 
if  marked  by  a  silver  light  falling  from  the  topmost 
branches.  The  hoarse,  grating  notes  of  jar-flies 
intensified  the  stillness. 

Nicholas  went  on  steadily,  spurred  by  supersti- 
tious terror  of  the  silence.  He  remembered  that 
Uncle  Ish  had  said  there  were  no  "  ha'nts  "  along 
this  road,  but  the  assurance  was  barren  of  comfort. 
Old  Uncle  Dan'l  Mule  had  certainly  seen  a  figure 
in  a  white  sheet  rise  up  out  of  that  decayed  oak 
stump  in  the  hollow,  for  he  had  sworn  to  it  in  the 
boy's  presence  in  Aunt  Rhody  Sand's  cabin  the 
night  of  her  daughter  Viny's  wedding.  As  for 
Viny's  husband  Saul,  he  had  declared  that  one  night 
after  ten  o'clock,  when  he  was  coming  through  this 
wood,  the  "  booger-boos  "  had  got  after  him  and 
chased  him  home. 


2,2  The  Voice  of  the  People 

At  the  end  of  the  wood  the  road  came  out  upon  the 
open  again,  and  in  the  distance  Nicholas  could  see, 
like  burnished  squares,  the  windows  of  his  father's 
house.  Between  the  thicket  and  the  house  there 
was  a  long  stretch  of  clearing,  which  had  been  once 
planted  in  corn,  and  now  supported  a  headless  army 
of  dry  stubble,  amid  a  dull-brown  waste  of  brooms- 
edge.  The  last  pale  vestige  of  the  afterglow,  visible 
across  the  level  country,  swept  the  arid  field  and 
softened  the  harsh  outlines  of  the  landscape.  It  was 
barren  soil,  whose  strength  had  been  exhausted  long 
since  by  years  of  production  without  returns,  tilled 
by  hands  that  had  forced  without  fertilising.  There 
was  now  grim  pathos  in  its  absolute  sterility,  telling 
as  it  did  of  long-gone  yields  of  grain  and  historic 
harvests. 

Nicholas  skirted  the  waste,  and  was  turning  into 
the  pasture  gate  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road, 
when  he  heard  the  shrill  sound  of  a  voice  from  the 
direction  of  the  house. 

"  Nick  !— who— a  Nick !  " 

On  one  of  the  cedar  posts  of  the  fence  of  the  cow- 
pen  he  discerned  the  small  figure  and  green  cotton 
frock  of  his  half-sister,  Sarah  Jane,  who  was  shout- 
ing through  her  hollowed  palms  to  increase  the 
volume  of  sound. 

"  I  say,  Nick  !  The  she-ep  hev'  been  driv-en  u-p ! 
Come  to  sup-per !  " 

She  vanished  from  the  post  and  Nicholas  ran  up 
the  remainder  of  the  road  and  swung  himself  over 
the  little  gate  which  led  into  the  small  square  yard 
immediately  surrounding  the  house.  At  the  pump 
near  the  back  door  his  father,  who  had  just  come 


The  Voice  of  the  People  33 

from  work,  was  washing  his  hands  before  going  into 
supper,  and  near  a  row  of  pointed  chicken  coops  the 
three  younger  children  were  "  shooing  "  up  the  tiny 
yellow  broods.  The  yard  was  unkempt  and  ugly, 
run  wild  in  straggling  ailanthus  shoots  and  littered 
with  chips  from  the  wood-pile. 

As  he  entered  the  house  he  saw  his  stepmother 
placing  a  dish  of  fried  bacon  upon  the  table,  which 
was  covered  with  a  "  watered  "  oilcloth  of  a  bright 
walnut  tint.  At  her  back  stood  Sarah  Jane  with  a 
plate  of  corn  bread  in  one  hand  and  a  glass  pitcher 
containing  buttermilk  in  the  other.  She  was  a 
slight,  flaxen-haired  child,  with  wizened  features  and 
sore,  red  eyelids. 

As  his  stepmother  caught  sight  of  him  she 
stopped  on  her  way  to  the  stove  and  surveyed  him 
with  sharp  but  not  unkindly  eyes. 

"  You've  been  takin'  your  time  'bout  comin' 
home,"  she  remarked,  "  an'  I  reckon  you're  power- 
ful hungry.     You  can  sit  down  if  you  want  to." 

She  was  long  and  lean  and  withered,  with  a 
chronic  facial  neuralgia,  which  gave  her  an  irritable 
expression  and  a  querulous  voice.  For  the  past 
several  years  Nicholas  had  never  seen  her  without 
a  large  cotton  handkerchief  bound  tightly  about  her 
face.  She  had  been  the  boy's  aunt  before  she  mar- 
ried his  father,  and  her  affection  for  him  was  proved 
by  her  allowing  no  one  to  harry  him  except  herself. 

"  How's  your  face,  ma?  "  asked  Nicholas  with  the 
indifference  of  habit  as  he  took  his  seat  at  the  table, 
while  Sarah  Jane  went  to  the  door  to  call  her  father. 
When  Burr  came  in  the  inquiry  was  repeated. 

"  Face  any  easier,  Marthy  ?  "  It  was  a  form  that 
3 


34  The  Voice  of  the  People 

had  been  gone  through  with  at  every  meal  since  the 
malady  began,  and  Marthy  Burr,  while  she  deplored 
its  insincerity,  would  have  resented  its  omission. 

"  Don't  you  all  trouble  'bout  my  neuralgy,"  she 
returned  with  resigned  exasperation  as  she  stood  up 
to  pour  the  coffee  out  of  the  large  tin  boiler.  "  It's 
mine,  an'  I've  borne  worse  things,  I  reckon,  which 
ain't  sayin'  that  'tain't  near  to  takin'  my  head  off." 

Amos  Burr  drank  his  coffee  without  replying,  the 
perspiration  standing  in  drops  on  his  large,  freckled 
face  and  shining  on  his  heavy  eyebrows.  Presently 
he  looked  at  Nicholas,  who  was  eating  abstractedly, 
his  gaze  on  his  plate. 

"  I  got  that  thar  piece  of  land  broke  to-day,"  he 
said,  "  an'  I  reckon  you  can  take  the  one-horse  har- 
row and  go  over  it  to-morrow.  Them  peanuts  ought 
to  hev'  been  in  the  ground  two  weeks  ago " 

"  They  ain't  hulled  yet,"  interrupted  his  wife. 
"  Sairy  Jane  ain't  done  more'n  half  of  'em.  She  and 
Nick  can  do  the  balance  after  supper.  Hurry  up, 
Sairy  Jane,  and  get  through.  Nannie,  don't  you 
touch  another  slice  of  that  middlin'.  You'll  be  fret- 
tin'  all  night." 

Nicholas  looked  up  nervously.  "  I  don't  want  to 
harrow  the  land  to-morrow,  pa,"  he  began ;  "  the 
judge  said  I  might  come  in  to  school " 

Amos  Burr  looked  at  him  helplessly.  "  Wall,  I 
never !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  the  likes  ?  "  said  his  wife. 

"  I  can  go,  pa,  can't  I  ?  "  asked  Nicholas. 

"  He  can  go,  pa,  can't  he?  "  repeated  Sarah  Jane, 
looking  up  with  her  mouth  wide  open  and  full  of 
corn  bread. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  35 

Burr  shook  his  head  and  looked  at  his  wife. 

"  I  don't  see  as  I  can  get  any  help,"  he  said. 
"  You're  as  good  as  a  hand,  and  I  can't  spare  you." 
Then  he  concluded  with  a  touch  of  irritation,  "  I 
don't  see  as  you  want  any  more  schoolin'.  You  can 
read  and  write  now  a  heap  better'n  I  can." 

Nicholas  choked  over  his  bread  and  his  lips  trem- 
bled. 

"  I — I  don't  want  to  be  like  you,  pa !  "  he  cried 
breathlessly,  and  the  unshed  tears  stung  his  eyelids. 
"  I  want  to  be  different !  " 

Burr  looked  up  stolidly.  "  I  don't  see  as  you 
want  any  more  schoolin',"  he  repeated  stubbornly, 
but  his  wife  came  sharply  to  the  boy's  assist- 
ance. 

"  I  wish  you'd  stop  pesterin'  the  child,  Amos," 
she  said,  inspired  less  by  the  softness  of  amiability 
than  by  the  genius  of  opposition.  "  I  don't  see  how 
you  can  be  everlastingly  doin'  it — my  dead  sister's 
child,  too." 

Nicholas  swallowed  his  tears  with  his  coffee  and 
turned  to  his  father.  "  I  can  get  up  'fore  day  and  do 
a  piece  of  the  land,  and  I  can  help  you  'bout  the 
sowin'  when  I  get  back  in  the  evening.  I'll  be  back 
by  twelve " 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  you  can  go  if  you're  so  set  on  it," 
said  Amos  gruffly.  He  rose  and  left  the  room,  stop- 
ping in  the  hall  to  get  a  bucket  of  buttermilk  for 
the  hogs.  Nicholas  went  over  to  the  window  and 
joined  Sarah  Jane,  who  was  shelling  the  peanuts, 
carefully  separating  the  outer  hulls  from  the  inner 
pink  skins,  which  were  left  intact  for  sowing. 
Marthy  Burr,  who  was  clearing  off  the  table,  let  fall 


36  The  Voice  of  the  People 

a  china  dish  and  began  scolding  the  younger  chil- 
dren. 

"  I  declare,  if  you  don't  all  but  drive  me  daft ! " 
she  said,  flinching  from  a  twinge  of  neuralgia  and 
raising  her  voice  querulously.  "  Why  can't  you  take 
yourselves  off  and  give  me  some  rest?  Nannie,  you 
and  Jake  go  out  to  the  old  oak  and  see  if  all  the 
turkeys  air  up.  Be  sure  and  count  'em — and  take 
Jubal  (the  youngest)  'long  with  you.  If  you  see 
your  pa  tell  him  I  say  to  look  at  the  brindle  cow. 
She  acted  mighty  queer  at  milkin',  and  I  reckon 
she'd  better  have  a  little  bran  mash — Sairy  Jane," 
turning  suddenly  upon  her  eldest  daughter,  "  if  you 
eat  another  one  of  them  peanuts  I'll  box  your 
jaws " 

Nicholas  finished  the  peanuts  and  went  upstairs 
to  his  little  attic  room.  He  was  not  sleepy,  and, 
after  throwing  himself  upon  his  corn-shuck  mattress, 
he  lay  for  a  long  time  staring  at  the  ceiling,  thinking 
of  the  morrow  and  listening  to  the  groans  of  his 
stepmother  as  she  tossed  with  neuralgia. 


IV 


In  the  first  glimmer  of  dawn  Nicholas  dressed 
himself  and  stole  softly  down  from  the  attic,  the 
frail  stairway  creaking  beneath  his  tread.  As  he 
was  unfastening  the  kitchen  door,  which  led  out  upon 
a  rough  plank  platform  called  the  "  back  porch," 
Marthy  Burr  stuck  her  head  in  from  the  adjoining 
room  where  she  slept,  and  called  his  name  in  a  high- 
pitched,  querulous  voice. 

"  Is  that  you,  Nick?  "  she  asked.  "  I  declar,  I'd 
jest  dropped  off  to  sleep  when  you  woke  me  comin' 
down  stairs.  I  never  could  abide  tip-toein',  nohow. 
I  don't  see  how  'tis  that  I  can't  get  no  rest  'thout 
bein'  roused  up,  when  your  pa  can  turn  right  over 
and  sleep  through  thunder.    Whar  you  goin'  now?  " 

Nicholas  stopped  and  held  a  whispered  colloquy 
with  her  from  the  back  porch.  "  I'm  goin'  to  drag 
the  land  some  'fore  pa  gets  up,"  he  answered. 
"  Then  I'm  goin'  in  to  town.  You  know  he  said  I 
might." 

His  stepmother  shook  her  bandaged  head  peev- 
ishly and  stood  holding  the  collar  of  her  unbleached 
cotton  gown. 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  so,"  she  responded.  "  I  was  think- 
in'  'bout  goin'  in  myself  and  hevin'  my  tooth  out, 
but  I  s'pose  I  can  wait  on  you.  The  Lord  knows 
I'm  used  to  waitin'." 

Nicholas  looked  at  her  in  perplexity,  his  arm  rest- 


38  The  Voice  of  the  People 

ing  on  the  little  shelf  outside,  which  supported  the 
wooden  water  bucket  and  the  long-handled  gourd. 

"  You  can  go  when  I  come  back,"  he  said  at  last, 
adding  with  an  effort,  "  or,  if  it's  so  bad,  I  can  stay 
at  home." 

But,  having  asserted  her  supremacy  over  his  in- 
clinations, Marthy  Burr  relented.  "  Oh,  I  don't 
know  as  I'll  go  in  to-day,"  she  returned.  "  I  ain't 
got  enough  teeth  left  now  to  chew  on,  an'  I  don't 
believe  it's  the  teeth,  nohow.     It's  the  gums " 

She  retreated  into  the  room,  whence  the  shrill 
voice  of  Sairy  Jane  inquired : 

"  Air  you  up,  ma  ?     Why,  'tain't  day !  " 

Nicholas  closed  the  door  and  went  out  upon  the 
porch.  The  yard  looked  deserted  and  desolated, 
giving  him  a  sudden  realisation  of  his  own  littleness 
and  the  immensity  of  the  hour.  It  was  as  if  the 
wheels  of  time  had  stopped  in  the  dim  promise  of 
things  unfulfilled.  A  broken  scythe  lay  to  one  side 
amid  the  straggling  ailanthus  shoots  ;  near  the  wood- 
pile there  was  a  wheelbarrow  half  filled  with  chips, 
and  at  a  little  distance  the  axe  was  poised  upon  a 
rotten  log.  From  the  small  coops  beside  the  hen- 
house came  an  anxious  clucking  as  the  fluffy  yellow 
chickens  strayed  beneath  the  uneven  edges  of  their 
pointed  prisons  and  made  independent  excursions 
into  the  world. 

In  the  far  east  the  day  was  slowly  breaking,  and 
the  open  country  was  flooded  with  pale,  washed-out 
grays,  like  the  background  of  an  impressionist  paint- 
ing. A  heavy  dew  had  risen  in  the  night,  and  as  the 
boy  passed  through  the  dripping  weeds  on  his  way 
to  the  stable  they  left  a  chill  moisture  upon  his  bare 


The  Voice  of  the  People  39 

feet.  His  eyes  were  heavy  with  sleep,  and  to  his 
cloudy  gaze  the  familiar  objects  of  the  barnyard 
assumed  grotesque  and  distorted  shapes.  The 
manure  heap  near  *he  doorway  presented  an  effect 
of  unreality,  the  pig-pen  seemed  to  have  suffered 
witchery  since  the  evening  before,  and  the  haystack, 
looming  vaguely  in  the  drab  distance,  appeared  to 
be  woven  of  some  phantasmal  fabric. 

He  led  out  the  old  sorrel  mare  and  followed  her 
into  the  large  ploughed  field  beyond  the  cow-pen, 
where  the  harrow  was  lying  on  one  side  of  the  brown 
ridges.  As  he  passed  the  pen  the  startled  sheep 
huddled  into  a  far  corner,  bleating  plaintively,  and 
the  brindle  cow  looked  after  him  with  soft,  persua- 
sive eyes.  When  he  had  attached  the  clanking 
chains  of  the  plough  harness  to  the  single-tree,  he 
caught  up  the  ropes  which  served  for  reins  and  set 
out  laboriously  over  the  crumbling  earth,  which 
yielded  beneath  his  feet  and  made  walking  difficult. 

The  field  extended  from  the  cow-pen  and  the 
bright,  green  rows  of  vegetables  that  were  raised  for 
market  to  the  reedy  brook  which  divided  his  father's 
land  from  that  belonging  to  General  Battle.  The 
brook  was  always  cool  and  shady,  and  silvery  with 
minnows  darting  over  the  shining  pebbles  beneath 
the  clear  water.  As  Nicholas  looked  across  the 
neutral  furrows  he  could  see  the  feathery  branches 
of  willows  rising  from  the  gray  mist,  and,  farther 
still  up  the  sloping  hillside,  the  dew-drenched  green 
of  the  mixed  woodlands. 

The  land  before  him  had  been  upturned  by  shal- 
low ploughing  some  days  since,  and  it  lay  now  pale 
and  arid,  the  large  clods  of  earth  showing  the  de- 


40  The  Voice  of  the  People 

tached  roots  of  grass  and  herbs,  and  presenting  a 
hint  of  menacing  destruction  rather  than  the  pros- 
pect of  the  peaceful  art  of  cultivation.  It  was  the 
boy's  duty  to  drag  the  soil  free  from  grass,  after 
which  it  would  be  laid  out  into  rows  some  three  feet 
apart.  When  this  was  done  two  furrows  would  be 
thrown  together  to  give  what  the  farmers  called  a 
"  rise,"  the  point  of  which  would  be  finally  levelled, 
when  the  ground  would  be  ready  for  the  peanut- 
sowing,  which  was  performed  entirely  by  hand. 

The  boy  worked  industriously  through  the  deep- 
ening dawn,  giving  an  occasional  "  gee  up,  Rhody !  " 
to  the  mare,  and  following  the  track  of  the  harrow 
with  much  the  same  concentration  of  purpose  as 
that  displayed  by  his  four-footed  friend.  He  was 
strong  for  his  years,  lithe  as  a  sapling,  and  as  fearless 
of  elemental  changes,  and  as  he  walked  meditatively 
across  the  bare  field  he  might  have  suggested  to  an 
onlooker  the  possible  production  of  a  vast  fund  of 
energy. 

Presently  the  gray  light  was  shot  with  gold  and  a 
streak  of  orange  fluttered  like  a  ribbon  in  the  east. 
In  a  moment  a  violet  cloud  floated  above  the  distant 
hill,  and  as  its  ends  curled  up  from  the  quickening 
heat  it  showed  the  splendour  of  a  crimson  lining.  A 
single  ray  of  sunshine,  pale  as  a  spectral  finger, 
pointed  past  the  woodlands  to  the  brook  beneath 
the  willows,  and  the  vague  blur  of  the  mixed  forest 
warmed  into  vivid  tints,  changing  through  varia- 
tions from  the  clear  emerald  of  young  maples  to  the 
olive  dusk  of  evergreens. 

Last  of  all  the  ploughed  field,  which  had  preserved 
a  neutral  cast,  blushed  faintly  in  the  sunrise,  glow- 


The  Voice  of  the  People  41 

ing  to  pale  purple  tones  where  the  sod  was  newly 
turned.  From  the  fugitive  richness  of  the  soil  a 
warm  breath  rose  suddenly,  filling  the  air  with  the 
genial  odour  of  earth  and  sunshine.  The  shining, 
dark  coils  of  worms  were  visible  like  threads  in  the 
bright  brown  clods. 

Nicholas  raised  his  head  and  stared  with  unseeing 
eyes  at  the  gorgeous  east.  A  rooster  crowed  shrilly, 
and  he  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  barnyard. 
Then  he  flicked  the  ropes  gently  and  went  on,  his 
gaze  on  the  ground.  His  thoughts,  which  at  first 
were  fixed  solely  upon  the  teeth  of  the  harrow,  took 
tumultuous  flight,  and  he  reviewed  for  the  hun- 
dredth time  his  conversation  with  the  judge  and 
the  vast  avenue  of  the  future  which  was  opening  be- 
fore him.  He  would  not  be  like  his  father,  of  this 
he  was  convinced — his  father,  who  was  always  work- 
ing with  nothing  to  show  for  it — whose  planting  was 
never  on  time,  and  whose  implements  were  never  in 
place.  His  father  had  never  had  this  gnawing  de- 
sire to  know  things,  this  passionate  hatred  of  the 
work  which  he  might  not  neglect.  His  father  had 
never  tried  to  beat  against  the  barriers  of  his  igno- 
rance and  been  driven  back,  and  beat  again  and  wept, 
and  read  what  he  couldn't  understand.  The  teacher 
at  the  public  school  had  told  him  that  he  was  far 
ahead  of  his  years,  and  yet  they  had  taken  him  away 
when  he  was  doing  his  level  best,  and  put  him  to 
dragging  the  land,  and  gathering  the  peanuts,  and 
carrying  the  truck  to  market,  and  marking  the  sheep 
with  red  paint,  and  bringing  up  the  cows,  and  doing 
all  the  odd,  innumerable  jobs  they  could  devise.  He 
let  the  ropes  fall  for  an  instant  and  dug  his  fist  into 


42  The  Voice  of  the  People 

his  eye ;  then  he  took  them  up  again  and  went  on 
stolidly.  At  last  the  sun  came  out  boldly  above  the 
hill,  and  the  hollows  were  flooded  with  light.  In 
the  centre  of  the  field  the  boy's  head  glowed  like 
some  large  red  insect.  A  hawk,  winging  slowly 
above  him,  looked  down  as  if  uncertain  of  his 
species,  and  fluttered  off  indifferently. 

At  six  o'clock  his  stepmother  came  to  the  back 
door  and  called  him  to  breakfast. 

When  the  meal  was  over  Amos  Burr  went  out  to 
the  field,  and  Nicholas  was  sent  to  drive  the  sheep  to 
the  pasture.  With  vigorous  wavings  of  a  piece  of 
brushwood,  and  many  darts  from  right  to  left,  he 
succeeded  finally  in  driving  them  across  the  road 
and  through  the  gate  on  the  opposite  side,  after 
which  he  returned  to  assist  his  stepmother  about  the 
house.  Not  until  nine  o'clock,  when  he  had  seen 
the  Battle  children  going  up  the  road,  was  he  free 
to  set  off  at  a  run  for  Kingsborough. 

As  he  sped  breathlessly  along,  past  the  waste- 
lands, into  the  woods,  down  the  road  to  the  hillside, 
and  down  the  hillside  to  the  road  again,  he  went  too 
rapidly  for  thought.  The  fresh  air  brushed  his 
heated  face  gently,  and,  at  the  edge  of  the  wood, 
where  the  shallow  puddles  lingered,  myriads  of  blue 
and  yellow  butterflies  scattered  into  variegated 
clumps  of  colour  at  his  approach,  darting  from  the 
moist  heaps  of  last  year's  leaves  to  the  shining 
rivulets  in  the  wheel  ruts  by  the  way.  A  partridge 
whistled  from  the  yellowing  green  of  the  wheat,  and 
a  rabbit  stole  noiselessly  from  the  sassafras  in  the 
ditch  and  shot  shy  glances  of  alarm ;  but  he  did  not 
turn  his  head,  and  his  hand  held  no  ready  stone. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  43 

Though  he  had  run  half  the  way,  when  at  last  he 
reached  the  judge's  house,  and  stood  before  the  little 
office  in  the  garden  where  the  school  was  held,  his 
courage  misgave  him,  and  he  leaned,  trembling, 
against  the  arbour  where  a  grapevine  grew.  The 
sound  of  voices  floated  out  to  him,  mingled  with 
bright,  girlish  laughter,  and,  looking  through  the 
open  window,  he  saw  the  light  curls  of  a  little  girl 
against  the  darker  head  of  a  boy.  He  choked  sud- 
denly with  shyness,  and  would  have  hesitated  there 
until  the  morning  was  over  had  not  the  judge's  old 
servant,  Caesar,  espied  him  from  the  dining-room 
window. 

"  Look  yer,  boy,  what  you  doin'  dar  ?  "  he  de- 
manded suspiciously,  and  then  called  to  some  one 
inside  the  house.  "  Marse  George,  dat  ar  Burr  boy 
is  a-loungin'  roun'  yo'  yawd." 

The  judge  did  not  respond,  but  the  tutor  came  to 
the  door  of  the  office  and  intercepted  the  boy's  re- 
treat. He  was  a  pale,  long-faced  young  man  in 
spectacles,  with  weak,  blue  eyes  and  a  short,  thin 
moustache.  His  name  was  Graves,  and  he  regarded 
what  he  called  the  judge's  "  quixotism  "  with  con- 
descending good-nature. 

"Is  that  you,  Nicholas  Burr?"  he  asked  in  a 
slightly  supercilious  voice.  "  The  judge  has  told 
me  about  you.  So  you  won't  be  a  farmer,  eh  ?  And 
you  won't  stay  in  your  class?  Well,  come  in  and 
we'll  see  what  we  can  make  of  you." 

Nicholas  followed  him  into  the  room  and  sat 
down  at  one  of  the  pine  desks,  while  the  judge's  son, 
Tom,  nodded  to  him  from  across  the  room,  and 
Bernard  Battle  grinned  over  his  shoulder  at  his 


44  The  Voice  of  the  People 

sister  Eugenia,  and  a  handsome  boy,  called  Dudley 
Webb,  made  a  face  which  convulsed  little  Sally 
Burwell,  who  hid  her  merriment  in  her  curls.  There 
were  several  other  children  in  the  room,  but  Nicho- 
las did  not  see  them  distinctly.  Something  had  got 
before  his  eyes  and  there  was  a  lump  in  his  throat. 
He  sat  rigidly  in  his  seat,  his  straw  hat,  with  the 
shoestring  around  the  crown,  lying  upon  the  desk 
before  him.  He  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to 
the  left,  keeping  his  frightened  gaze  upon  the  tutor's 
face. 

Mr.  Graves  asked  him  a  few  questions,  which  he 
could  not  answer,  and  then,  giving  him  a  book, 
turned  to  the  other  children.  As  the  lessons  went 
on  it  seemed  to  Nicholas  that  he  had  never  known 
anything  in  his  life ;  that  he  should  never  know  any- 
thing; and  that  he  should  always  remain  the  most 
ignorant  person  on  earth — unless  that  lot  fell  to 
Sairy  Jane. 

The  difficulties  besetting  the  path  of  knowledge 
appeared  to  be  insurmountable.  Even  if  he  had  the 
books  and  the  time  he  could  never  learn  anything — 
his  head  would  prevent  it. 

"  Bound  Beloochistan,  Tom,"  said  the  tutor,  and 
Tom,  a  stout,  fair-haired  boy  with  a  heavy  face,  went 
through  the  process  to  the  satisfaction  of  Mr.  Graves 
and  to  the  amazement  of  Nicholas. 

The  office  was  a  plain,  square  room,  containing, 
besides  the  desks  and  tables,  an  old  secretary  and 
a  corner  cupboard  of  an  antique  pattern,  which  held 
an  odd  assortment  of  cracked  china  and  chemist 
bottles.  There  was  also  a  square  mahogany  chest, 
called  the  wine-cellar,  which  had  been  sent  from  the 


The  Voice  of  the  People  45 

dining-room  when  the  last  bottle  of  Tokay  was 
opened  to  drink  the  health  of  the  Confederacy. 

Before  the  war  the  place  had  been  used  by  the 
judge  as  a  general  business  room,  but  when  the 
slaves  were  freed  and  there  were  fewer  servants  it 
was  found  to  be  little  needed,  and  was  finally  given 
over  entirely  to  the  children's  school. 

When  recess  came  the  tutor  left  the  office,  telling 
Nicholas  that  he  might  go  home  with  the  little  girls 
if  he  liked.  "  I  shall  try  to  have  the  books  you  need 
by  to-morrow,"  he  said,  and,  his  natural  amiability 
overcoming  his  assumed  superciliousness,  he  added 
pleasantly : 

"  I  shouldn't  mind  being  backward  at  first.  The 
boys  are  older  than  you,  but  you'll  soon  catch  up." 

He  went  out,  and  Nicholas  had  started  towards 
the  door,  when  Tom  Bassett  flung  himself  before 
him,  swinging  skilfully  over  an  intervening  table. 

"  Hold  up,  carrot-head,"  he  said.  "  Let's  have  a 
look  at  you.  Are  all  heads  afire  where  you  come 
from?" 

"  He's  Amos  Burr's  boy,"  explained  Bernard  Bat- 
tle with  a  grin.  "  He  lives  'long  our  road.  I  saw 
him  hoeing  potatoes  day  before  yesterday.  He's 
got  freckles  enough  to  tan  a  sheepskin  !  " 

In  the  midst  of  the  laugh  which  followed  Nicholas 
stood  awkwardly,  shifting  his  bare  feet.  His  face 
was  scarlet,  and  he  fingered  in  desperation  the 
ragged  brim  of  his  hat. 

"  I  reckon  they're  my  freckles,"  he  said  doggedly. 

"  And  I  reckon  you  can  keep  'em,"  retorted  Ber- 
nard, mimicking  his  tone.  "  We  ain't  going  to  steal 
'em.     I  say,  Eugie,  here're  some  freckles  for  sale !  " 


46  The  Voice  of  the  People 

The  dark  little  girl,  who  was  putting  up  her  books 
in  one  corner,  looked  up  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Let  me  alone !  "  she  replied  shortly,  and  re- 
turned to  her  work,  tugging  at  the  straps  with  both 
hands.  Dudley  Webb — a  handsome,  upright  boy, 
well  dressed  in  a  dark  suit  and  linen  shirt — lounged 
over  as  he  munched  a  sandwich. 

He  looked  at  Nicholas  from  head  to  foot,  and  his 
gaze  was  returned  with  stolid  defiance.  Nicholas 
did  not  flinch,  but  for  the  first  time  he  felt  ashamed 
of  his  ugliness,  of  his  coarse  clothes,  of  his  briar- 
scratched  legs,  of  his  freckles,  and  of  the  unalterable 
colour  of  his  hair.  He  wished  with  all  his  heart  that 
he  were  safely  in  the  field  with  his  father,  driving 
the  one-horse  harrow  across  upturned  furrows.  He 
didn't  want  to  learn  anything  any  more.  He  wanted 
only  to  get  away. 

"  He's  common,"  said  Dudley  at  last,  throwing  a 
crust  of  bread  through  the  open  window.  "  He's  as 
common  as — as  dirt.     I  heard  mother  say  so " 

"  Father  says  he's  imcommon,"  returned  Tom 
doubtfully,  turning  his  honest  eyes  on  Nicholas 
again.  "  He  told  Mr.  Graves  that  he  was  a  most 
uncommon  boy." 

"  Oh,  well,  you  can  play  with  him  if  you  like," 
rejoined  Dudley  resolutely,  "  but  I  shan't.  He's  old 
Amos  Burr's  son,  anyway,  who  never  wore  a  whole 
shirt  in  his  life." 

"  He  had  on  one  yesterday,"  said  Bernard  Battle 
impartially.  "  I  saw  it.  It  was  just  made  and  hadn't 
been  washed." 

Nicholas  looked  up  stubbornly.  "  You  let  my 
father  alone !  "  he  exclaimed,  spurred  by  the  desire 


The  Voice  of  the  People  47 

to  resent  something  and  finding  it  easier  to  fight  for 
another  than  himself.  "  You  let  my  father  alone, 
or  I'll  make  you !  " 

"  I'd  like  to  see  you !  "  retorted  Dudley  wrathfully, 
and  Nicholas  had  squared  up  for  the  first  blow,  when 
before  his  swimming  gaze  a  defender  intervened. 

"  You  jest  let  him  alone !  "  cried  a  voice,  and  the 
flutter  of  a  blue  cotton  skirt  divided  Dudley  from  his 
adversary.  "  You  jest  let  him  alone.  If  you  call 
him  common  I'll  hit  you,  an' — an'  you  can't  hit  me 
back!" 

"  Eugie,  you  ought  to  be "  began  Bernard, 

but  she  pushed  the  combatants  aside  with  decisive 
thrusts  of  her  sunburned  little  hand,  and  planted 
herself  upon  the  threshold,  her  large,  black  eyes 
glowing  like  shaded  lamps. 

"  He  wan't  doin'  nothin'  to  you,  and  you  jest  let 
him  be.  He's  goin'  to  tote  my  books  home,  an'  you 
shan't  touch  him.  I  reckon  I  know  what's  common 
as  well  as  you  do — an'  he  ain't — he  ain't  com- 
mon." 

Then  she  caught  Nicholas's  arm  and  marched  off 
like  a  dispensing  providence  with  a  vassal  in  tow. 
Nicholas  followed  obediently.  He  was  sufficiently 
cowed  into  non-resistance,  and  he  felt  a  wholesome 
awe  of  his  defender,  albeit  he  wished  that  it  had  been 
a  boy  like  himself  instead  of  a  slip  of  a  girl  with 
short  skirts  and  a  sunbonnet.  At  the  bottom  of  his 
heart  there  existed  an  instinctive  contempt  of  the 
sex  which  Eugenia  represented,  developed  by  the 
fact  that  it  was  not  force  but  weakness  that  had  van- 
quished his  victorious  opponent.  Dudley  Webb  was 
a  gentleman,  and  only  a  bully  would  strike  a  girl, 


48  The  Voice  of  the  People 

even  if  she  were  a  spitfire — the  term  by  which  he 
characterised  Eugenia.  He  remembered  suddenly 
her  exultant,  "  an'  you  can't  hit  me  back !  "  and  it 
seemed  to  him  that,  even  in  the  righteous  cause  of 
his  deliverance,  she  had  taken  an  unfair  and  feminine 
advantage  of  the  handsome  boy  for  whom  he  cher- 
ished a  shrinking  admiration. 

As  for  Eugenia  herself,  she  was  troubled  by  no 
such  misgivings.  She  walked  slightly  in  front  of 
him,  her  blue  skirt  swinging  briskly  from  side  to 
side,  her  white  sunbonnet  hanging  by  its  strings 
from  her  shoulders.  Above  the  starched  ruffles  rose 
her  small  dark  head  and  white  profile,  and  Nicholas 
could  see  the  determined  curve  of  her  chin  and  the 
humorous  tremor  of  her  nostril.  It  was  a  vivid 
little  face,  devoid  of  colour  except  for  the  warm 
mouth,  and  sparkling  with  animation  which  burned 
steadily  at  the  white  heat  of  intensity — but  to  Nicho- 
las she  was  only  a  plain,  dark,  little  girl,  with  an  un- 
healthy pallor  of  complexion.  He  was  grateful, 
nevertheless,  and  when  his  first  regret  that  she  was 
not  a  boy  was  over  he  experienced  a  thrill  of  affec- 
tion. It  was  the  first  time  that  any  one  had  delib- 
erately taken  his  part  in  the  face  of  opposing  odds, 
and  the  stand  seemed  to  bring  him  closer  to  his 
companion.  He  held  her  books  tightly,  and  his 
face  softened  as  he  looked  at  her,  until  it  was  trans- 
figured by  the  warmth  of  his  emotion.  Then,  as 
they  passed  the  college  grounds,  where  a  knot  of 
students  greeted  Eugenia  hilariously,  and  turned 
upon  the  Old  Stage  Road,  he  reached  out  timidly  to 
take  the  small  hand  hanging  by  her  side. 

"  It's  better  walkin'  on  this  side  the  road,"  he  said 


The  Voice  of  the  People  49 

with  a  mild  assumption  of  masculine  supremacy.  "  I 
wouldn't  walk  in  the  dust."  >* 

Eugenia  looked  at  him  gravely  and  drew  her  hand 
away. 

"  You  mustn't  do  that,"  she  responded  severely. 
"  When  I  said  you  weren't  common  I  didn't  mean 
that  you  really  weren't,  you  know;  because,  of 
course,  you  are.  I  jest  meant  that  I  wouldn't  let 
them  say  so." 

Nicholas  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  road  and  stared 
at  her,  his  face  flushing  and  a  slow  rage  creeping 
into  his  eyes. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  in  trembling  silence. 
Then  he  threw  the  books  from  him  into  the  sand  at 
her  feet,  and  with  a  choking  sob  sped  past  her  to 
vanish  amid  a  whirl  of  dust  in  the  sunny  distance. 

Eugenia  looked  thoughtfully  down  upon  her  scat- 
tered possessions.  She  was  all  alone  upon  the  high- 
way, and  around  her  the  open  fields  rolled  off  into 
the  green  of  far-off  forests.  The  sunshine  fell  hotly 
over  her,  and  straight  ahead  the  white  road  lay  like 
a  living  thing. 

She  stooped,  gravely  gathered  up  the  books,  and 
walked  resolutely  on  her  way,  a  cloud  of  yellow 
butterflies  fluttering  like  loosened  petals  of  full- 
blown buttercups  about  her  head. 
4 


V 


Battle  Hall  was  a  square  white  frame  house  with 
bright-green  window  shutters  and  a  deep  front 
porch,  supported  by  heavy  pillars,  and  reached  from 
the  gravelled  walk  below  by  a  flight  of  rugged  stone 
steps.  In  the  rear  of  the  house,  through  which  a 
wide  hall  ran,  dividing  the  rooms  of  the  first  floor, 
there  was  another  porch  similar  to  the  one  at  the 
front,  except  that  the  pillars  were  hidden  in  musk 
roses  and  the  long  benches  at  either  side  were  of 
plain,  unpainted  pine.  At  the  foot  of  the  back  steps 
a  narrow,  well-trodden  path  led  to  the  vegetable 
garden,  which  was  separated  from  the  yard  by  what 
was  called  "  Cattle  Lane  " — a  name  derived  from  the 
morning  and  evening  passage  of  the  cows  on  their 
way  to  and  from  the  pasture. 

Beginning  at  the  gate  into  the  garden,  where  the 
tall  white  palings  were  gay  with  hollyhocks  and 
heavy-headed  sunflowers,  a  grapevine  trellis  ex- 
tended to  the  farmyard  at  the  end  of  the  lane,  whence 
an  overgrown  walk  led  across  tangled  meadows  to 
the  negro  "  quarters  " — a  long,  whitewashed  row  of 
almost  deserted  cabins.  Since  the  close  of  the  war 
the  "  quarters  "  had  fallen  partly  into  disuse  and  had 
decayed  rapidly,  though  some  few  were  still  tenanted 
by  the  former  slaves,  who  gathered  as  of  old  in  the 
doorways  of  an  evening  to  strum  upon  broken- 
stringed  banjos  and  to  wrap  the  hair  of  their  small 
offspring.     Beyond  this  row  there  was  a  slight  ele- 


The  Voice  of  the  People  51 

vation  called  "  Hickory  Hill,"  where  Uncle  Ishmael 
had  lived  for  more  than  seventy  years;  and  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill,  on  the  other  side,  near  "  Sweet  Gum 
Spring,"  there  were  several  neatly  patched  log 
cabins  occupied  by  the  house  servants,  who  held  in 
social  contempt  the  field  hands  in  the  neighbouring 
"  quarters."  Overlooking  the  "  Sweet  Gum  Spring," 
on  a  loftier  hill,  was  the  family  graveyard,  which  was 
walled  off  from  the  orchard  near  by,  where  the 
twisted  old  fruit  trees  had  long  since  yielded  the 
larger  part  of  their   abundance. 

At  the  front  of  the  Hall  the  view  was  vastly  dif- 
ferent. There  the  great  blue-grass  lawn  was  thickly 
studded  with  ancient  elms  and  maples,  whose  shade 
fell  like  a  blanket  upon  the  velvety  sod  beneath. 
The  gravelled  walk,  beginning  at  the  front  steps, 
was  bordered  on  either  side  by  rows  of  closely 
clipped  box,  which  ended  in  the  long  avenue  of 
cedars  leading  from  the  lawn  to  the  distant  turnpike. 
To  the  right  of  the  house  there  were  three  pointed 
aspens,  which  shivered  like  skeletons  in  silver,  hold- 
ing grimly  aloof  from  the  vivid  pink  of  the  crepe 
myrtle  at  their  feet.  Beyond  them  was  the  well- 
house,  with  a  long  moss-grown  trough  where  the 
horses  and  the  cows  came  to  drink,  and  across  the 
road  began  the  cornlands,  which  stretched  in 
rhythmic  undulations  to  the  dark  belt  of  the  pine 
forest.  On  the  left  of  the  box  walk,  in  a  direct  line 
from  the  three  aspens,  towered  a  huge  sycamore, 
and  from  one  of  its  protecting  arms,  shaded  by  large 
fan-like  leaves,  a  child's  swing  dangled  by  a  thick 
hemp  rope.  Near  the  sycamore,  where  an  old  oak 
had  fallen,  the  rotting  stump  was  hidden  by  a  high 


52  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  rockery,"  edged  with  conch  shells,  and  over  the 
rough  gray  rocks  a  tangle  of  garden  flowers  ran 
wild  —  sweet-william,  petunias,  phlox,  and  the 
mossy  stems  of  red  and  yellow  portulaca.  On  the 
western  side  of  the  house  there  was  a  spreading 
mimosa  tree,  its  sensitive  branches  brushing  the 
green  shutters  of  a  window  in  the  second  story. 

The  Hall  had  been  built  by  the  general's  father 
when,  because  of  family  dissensions,  he  had  decided 
to  move  from  a  central  county  to  the  more  thinly 
settled  country  surrounding  Kingsborough.  There 
the  general  had  passed  his  boyhood,  and  there  he 
had  left  his  wife  when  he  had  gone  to  the  war.  At 
the  beginning  of  the  struggle  he  had  freed  his  slaves 
and  buckled  on  his  sword. 

"  They  may  have  the  negroes,  and  welcome,"  he 
had  said  to  the  judge.  "  Do  you  think  I'd  fight  for 
a  damned  darkey  ?  It's  the  principle,  sir — the 
principle!  " 

And  the  judge,  who  had  not  freed  his  servants,  but 
who  would  have  thought  as  little  of  using  a  profane 
word  as   of  alluding   in   disrespectful   terms   to   a 
\   family  portrait,  had  replied  gravely : 
_\     "  My  dear  Tom,  you  will  find  principle  much  bet- 
ter to  fight  for  than  to  live  on." 

But  the  general  had  gone  with  much  valour  and 
more  vehemence.  He  had  enlisted  as  a  private,  had 
risen  within  a  couple  of  years  to  a  colonelcy,  and  had 
been  raised  to  the  rank  of  general  by  the  unanimous 
voice  of  his  neighbours  upon  his  return  home. 
After  an  enthusiastic  reception  at  Kingsborough  he 
had  mounted  a  heavy-weight  horse  and  ridden  out 
to  the  Hall,  to  find  the  grounds  a  tangle  of  weeds  and 


The  Voice  of  the  People  53 

his  wife  with  the  pallor  of  death  upon  her  brow. 
She  had  rallied  at  his  coming,  had  lingered  some  sad 
years  an  invalid  in  the  great  room  next  the  parlour, 
and  had  died  quietly  at  last  as  she  knelt  in  prayer 
beside  her  high  white  bed. 

For  days  after  this  the  empty  house  was  like  a 
coffin.  The  children  ran  in  tears  through  the 
shuttered  rooms,  and  the  servants  lost  their  linger- 
ing shred  of  discipline.  When  the  funeral  was  over, 
the  general  made  some  spasmodic  show  of  authority, 
but  his  heart  was  not  in  it,  and  he  wavered  for  lack 
of  the  sustaining  hold  of  his  wife's  frail  hand.  He 
dismissed  the  overseer  and  undertook  to  some  ex- 
tent the  management  of  the  farm,  but  the  crops  failed 
and  the  hay  rotted  in  the  fields  before  it  was  got  into 
the  barn.  Then,  as  things  were  galloping  from  bad 
to  worse,  a  letter  came  from  his  sister,  Miss  Chris- 
tina, and  in  a  few  days  she  arrived  with  a  cartload 
of  luggage  and  a  Maltese  cat  in  a  wicker  basket. 
From  the  moment  when  she  stepped  out  of  the  car- 
riage at  the  end  of  the  avenue  and  ascended  the 
box-trimmed  walk  to  the  stone  steps,  the  difficulties 
disentangled  and  the  domestic  problems  dwindled 
into  the  simplest  of  arithmetical  sums.  By  some 
subtle  law  of  the  influence  of  the  energetic  she  as- 
sumed at  once  the  rights  of  authority.  From  the 
master  of  the  house  to  the  field  hands  in  the  "  quar- 
ters," all  bent  to  her  regenerating  rule.  She  opened 
the  windows  in  the  airy  rooms,  cleaned  off  the  store- 
room shelves  with  soda  and  water,  and  put  the 
marauding  small  negroes  to  weeding  the  lawn.  Be- 
fore her  passionate  purification  the  place  was  purged 
of  the  dust  of  years.     The  hardwood  floors  of  the 


54  The  Voice  of  the  People 

wide  old  halls  began  to  shine  like  mirrors,  the 
assortment  of  odds  and  ends  in  the  attic  was  rele- 
gated to  an  outhouse,  and  even  the  general's  aunt, 
Miss  Griselda  Grigsby,  was  turned  unceremoniously 
out  of  her  apartment  before  the  all-pervading  soap- 
suds of  cleaning  day. 

As  for  the  servants,  a  sudden  miraculous  zeal  pos- 
sessed them.  Within  a  fortnight  the  garden  rows 
were  hoed  free  from  grass,  the  hops  were  gathered 
from  the  fence,  and  the  weeds  on  the  lawn  vanished 
beneath  small  black  fingers.  Even  the  annual 
threshing  of  the  harvest  was  accomplished  under  the 
overseeing  eye  of  "  Miss  Chris,"  as  she  was  called 
by  the  coloured  population.  During  the  week  that 
the  old  machine  poured  out  its  chaffiess  wheat  and 
the  driver  whistled  in  the  centre  of  the  treadmill 
Miss  Chris  appeared  at  the  barn  at  noon  each  day 
to  warn  the  hands  against  waste  of  time  and  to  see 
that  the  mules  were  well  watered. 

But  the  revolutions  without  were  as  naught  to  the 
internal  ones.  Aunt  Verbeny,  the  cook,  whose 
tyranny  had  extended  over  thirty  years,  was  assisted 
from  her  pedestal,  and  the  hen-house  keys  were  re- 
moved from  the  nail  of  the  kitchen  wall. 

"  This  will  never  do,  Verbeny,"  said  Miss  Chris 
a  month  after  her  arrival.  "  We  could  not  possibly 
have  eaten  three  dozen  chickens  within  the  last 
week.  I  am  afraid  you  take  them  home  without 
asking  me." 

Aunt  Verbeny,  a  fat  old  woman  with  a  shining 
black  skin,  smoothed  her  checked  apron  with  of- 
fended dignity. 

"  Hi!  Miss  Chris,  ain't  I  de  cook?  "  she  exclaimed. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  55 

But  Miss  Chris  preserved  her  ground. 

"  That  is  no  excuse  for  you  taking  what  doesn't 
belong  to  you,"  she  replied  severely.  "  If  this  keeps 
up  I  shall  be  obliged  to  let  Delphy  do  the  cooking. 
There  won't  be  a  chicken  in  the  hen-house  by  the 
end  of  the  month." 

Aunt  Verbeny  still  smoothed  her  apron,  but  her 
authority  was  shaken,  and  she  felt  it.  She  gave  a 
slow  grunt  of  dissatisfaction. 

"  Dese  ain't  de  doin's  I'se  used  ter,"  she  protested, 
and  then,  beneath  the  undaunted  eyes  of  Miss  Chris, 
she  melted  into  propitiation. 

"  Des'  let  dat  ar  chicken  alont,  Miss  Chris,"  she 
said,  skilfully  reducing  the  charge  to  a  single  offence. 
"  Des'  let  dat  ar  chicken  alont.  'Tain'  no  use  yo' 
rilin'  yo'se'f  'bout  dat.  Hit's  done  en  it's  been  done. 
Hit  don't  becomst  de  quality  ter  fluster  demse'ves 
over  de  gwines  on  uv  er  low-lifeted  fowl.  You  des' 
bresh  yo'se'f  down  an  steddy  like  hit  ain'  been  fool 
you  ef  you  knowed  yo'se'f.  You  des'  let  dat  ar 
chicken  be  er  little  act  uv  erdultery  betweenst  you  en 
me.     Ef 'n  it's  gone,  hit'll  stay  gone !  " 

Whereupon  Miss  Chris  retreated,  leaving  her  op- 
ponent in  possession  of  the  kitchen  floor. 

But  from  this  day  forth  the  hen-house  was  locked 
at  night  and  unlocked  in  the  morning  by  the  hand  of 
Miss  Chris,  and  Aunt  Verbeny's  overweening  ill- 
temper  diminished  with  her  authority. 

Miss  Chris  had  been  a  beauty  in  her  day,  but  as 
she  passed  middle  age  the  family  failing  seized  upon 
her,  and  she  grew  huge  and  unwieldy,  the  dispro- 
portion of  her  enormous  figure  to  her  small  feet 
giving  her  an  awkward,  waddling  walk. 


56  The  Voice  of  the  People 

She  had  a  profusion  of  silvery-white  hair,  worn  in 
fluffy  curls  about  her  large  pink  face,  soft  brown 
eyes,  and  a  full  double  chin  that  fell  over  a  round 
cameo  brooch  bearing  the  head  of  Minerva  set  in  a 
plain  gold  band.  In  winter  she  wore  gowns  of  black 
Henrietta  cloth,  made  with  plain  bodices  and  full 
plaited  skirts;  in  summer  she  wore  the  same  skirts 
with  loosely  fitting  white  linen  sacques,  trimmed  in 
delicate  embroideries,  with  muslin  ruffles  falling 
over  her  plump  hands.  When  she  came  to  the  Hall 
she  brought  with  her  innumerable  reminiscences 
of  her  childhood,  which  she  told  in  a  musical  voice 
with  girlish  laughter. 

After  his  sister's  arrival  the  general  discontinued 
his  fitful  overseering.  He  rose  early  and  spent  his 
long  days  sitting  upon  the  front  porch,  smoking  an 
old  briar  pipe  and  reading  the  Richmond  papers. 
Occasionally  he  would  ride  at  a  jogging  pace  round 
the  fields,  giving  casual  directions  to  the  workers, 
but  as  his  weight  increased  he  found  it  difficult  to 
mount  into  the  saddle,  and,  at  last,  desisted  from  the 
attempt.  He  preferred  to  sit  in  peace  in  his  cane 
rocking  chair,  looking  down  the  box  walk  into  the 
twilight  of  the  cedar  avenue,  or  gazing  placidly  be- 
yond the  aspens  and  the  well-house  to  the  streaked 
ribbons  of  the  ripening  corn.  It  was  said  that  he 
had  never  been  the  same  man  since  the  death  of  his 
wife.  Certainly  he  laughed  as  heartily  and  his  jovial 
face  had  taken  a  ruddier  tint,  but  there  was  a  super- 
ficiality in  his  exuberant  cheerfulness  which  told  that 
it  was  not  well  rooted  below  the  surface.  His  jokes 
were  as  ready  as  ever,  but  he  had  fallen  into  an 
absent-minded  habit  of  repetition,  and  sometimes 


The  Voice  of  the  People  57 

repeated  the  same  stories  at  breakfast  and  supper. 
He  talked  freely  of  his  dead  wife,  he  even  made  ill- 
placed  jests  about  his  widowerhood,  and  he  never 
failed  to  kiss  a  pair  of  red  lips  when  the  chance 
offered;  but,  for  all  that,  his  gaze  often  wandered 
past  the  huge  sycamore  to  the  family  graveyard, 
where  rank  periwinkle  grew  and  mocking-birds 
nested.  Through  the  long  summer  not  a  Sunday 
passed  that  he  did  not  take  fresh  flowers  to  one  of 
the  neatly  trimmed  mounds  where  the  marble 
headpiece  read : 

"AMELIA  TUCKER, 

BELOVED  WIFE  OF 

THOMAS   BATTLE, 
Died  April  3RD.,  18—. 

'  /  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life,  saith 
the  Lord.' " 

Sometimes  the  children  were  with  him,  but  usu- 
ally he  went  alone,  and  once  or  twice  he  returned 
with  red  eyelids  and  asked  for  a  julep. 

There  was  little  to  fill  his  life  now,  and  he  divided 
it  between  Bernard  and  Eugenia,  whom  he  adored, 
and  the  negroes,  whom  he  reviled  for  diversion  and 
spoiled  to  make  amends. 

"  They  will  break  me!  "  he  would  declare  a  dozen 
times  a  day.  "  They  will  turn  me  out  of  house  and 
home.  Here's  old  Sambo's  Claudius  come  back  and 
moved  into  the  quarters.  He  hasn't  a  cent  to  his 
name,  and  he's  the  most  no  'count  scamp  on  earth. 
It's  worse  than  before  the  war — upon  my  soul  it  is! 


58  The  Voice  of  the  People 

Then  they  lived  on  me  and  I  got  an  odd  piece  of 
work  out  of  them.  Now  they  live  on  me  and  don't 
do  a  damned  lick!  " 

"  My  dear  Tom!  "  Miss  Chris  cheerfully  remon- 
strated. She  had  long  been  reconciled  to  her 
brother's  swearing  propensities,  which  she  regarded 
as  an  amiable  eccentricity  to  be  overlooked  by  a 
special  indulgence  accorded  the  male  sex,  but  she 
never  knew  just  how  to  meet  him  in  a  discussion 
of  the  servants. 

"What  is  to  be  done  about  it?"  she  inquired 
gravely.  "  Claudius  left  here  at  the  beginning  of 
the  war,  Aunt  Griselda  says,  and  he  has  never  been 
back  until  now.  It  seems  he  has  brought  his  family. 
He  has  lung-trouble." 

"  Done  about  it!  "  repeated  the  general  heatedly. 
"  What's  to  be  done  about  it?  Why,  the  rascal  can't 
starve.  I've  just  told  Sampson  to  wheel  him  down 
a  barrel  of  meal.  Oh,  they'll  break  me!  I  shan't 
have  a  morsel  left!  " 

The  next  time  it  was  an  opposite  grievance. 

"What  do  you  reckon's  happened  now?"  he 
asked,  marching  into  the  brick  storeroom,  where  his 
sister  was  slicing  ripe,  red  tomatoes  into  a  blue  china 
bowl.    "  What  do  you  think  that  fool  Ish  has  done?  " 

Miss  Chris  looked  up  attentively,  her  large,  fresh- 
coloured  face  expressing  mild  apprehension.  She 
had  rolled  back  her  linen  sleeves,  and  the  juice  of  the 
tomatoes  stained  her  full,  dimpled  wrists. 

"  He  hasn't  killed  himself? "  she  inquired  anx- 
iously. 

"  Killed  himself  ?  "  roared  the  general.  "  He'll 
live  forever.     I  don't  believe  he'd  die  if  he  were 


The  Voice  of  the  People  59 

strung  up  with  a  halter  round  his  neck.  He's  moved 
off." 

"  Moved  off!  "  echoed  Miss  Chris  faintly.  "  Why, 
I  believe  Uncle  Ish  was  living  in  that  cabin  on 
Hickory  Hill  before  I  was  born.  I  remember  going 
up  there  to  help  him  gather  hickory  nuts  when  I 
wasn't  six  years  old.  I  couldn't  have  been  six  be- 
cause mammy  Betsey  was  with  me,  and  she  died 
before  I  was  seven.  I  declare  there  were  always 
more  nuts  on  those  trees  than  any  I  ever  saw " 

But  the  general  broke  in  upon  her  reminiscences, 
and  she  took  up  a  fresh  tomato  and  peeled  it  care- 
fully with  a  sharp-edged  knife. 

"  Some  idiots  got  after  him,"  said  the  general, 
"  and  told  him  if  he  went  on  living  on  my  land  he'd 
go  back  to  slavery,  and,  bless  your  life,  he  has  gone 
— gone  to  that  little  one-room  shanty  where  his 
daughter  used  to  live,  between  my  place  and  Burr's 
— as  if  I'd  have  him,"  he  concluded  wrathfully.  "  I 
wouldn't  own  that  fool  again  if  he  dropped  into  my 
lap  straight  from  heaven!  " 

Miss  Chris  laughed  merrily. 

"  It  is  the  last  place  he  would  be  likely  to  drop 
from,"  she  returned;  "  but  I'll  call  him  up  and  talk 
with  him.  It  is  a  pity  for  him  to  be  moving  off  at 
his  age." 

So  Uncle  Ishmael  was  summoned  up  to  the  porch, 
and  Miss  Chris  explained  the  error  of  his  ways,  but 
to  no  purpose. 

"  I  ain'  got  no  fault  ter  fine,"  he  repeated  over  and 
over  again,  scratching  his  grizzled  head.  "  I  ain' 
got  no  fault  ter  fine  wid  you.  You've  been  used  me 
moughty  well,  en  I'se  pow'ful  'bleeged  ter  you — en 


60  The  Voice  of  the  People 

Marse  Tom,  he's  a  gent'mun  ef  ever  I  seed  one.  I 
ain'  go  no  fault  ter  fine." 

The  general  lost  his  temper  and  started  up. 

"  Then  what  do  you  mean  by  turning  fool  at  your 
age?  "  he  demanded  angrily.  "  Haven't  I  given  you 
a  roof  over  your  head  all  these  years?  " 

"  Dat's  so,  suh." 

"  And  food  to  eat?  " 

"  Dat's  so." 

"  And  never  asked  you  to  do  a  lick  of  work  since 
you  got  the  rheumatism?  " 

"  Dat's  es  true  es  de  Gospel." 

"  Then  what  do  you  mean  by  going  off  like  mad 
to  that  little,  broken-down  shanty  with  half  the  roof 
gone? " 

Uncle  Ishmael  shuffled  his  heavy  feet  and 
scratched  his  head  again. 

"  Hit's  de  trufe,  Marse  Tom,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  Hit's  de  Gospel  trufe.  I  ain'  had  so  much  ter  eat 
sence  I'se  gone  off,  en  I  ain'  had  much  uv  er  roof 
ter  kiver  me,  en  I  ain'  had  nuttin'  ter  w'ar  ter  speak 
on — but,  fo'  de  Lawd,  Marse  Tom,  freedom  it  are 
er  moughty  good  thing." 

Then  the  general  flew  into  the  house  in  a  rage  and 
Uncle  Ishmael  left,  followed  by  two  small  negroes, 
bearing  on  their  heads  the  donations  made  by  Miss 
Chris  to  his  welfare. 

On  the  day  that  Eugenia  encountered  Nicholas  at 
school  the  general  was  sitting,  as  usual,  in  his  rock- 
ing chair  upon  the  front  porch,  when  he  saw  the 
flutter  of  a  blue  skirt,  and  Eugenia  emerged  from 
the  avenue  and  came  up  the  walk  between  the  stiff 
rows  of  box.     It  was  two  o'clock,  and  the  general 


The  Voice  of  the  People  61 

was  peacefully  awaiting  the  sound  of  the  dinner  bell, 
but  at  the  sight  of  Eugenia  his  peacefulness  de- 
parted, and  he  called  angrily: 

"  Eugie,  where's  Bernard?  " 

"  Comin'." 

"  Coming!  "  returned  the  general  indignantly. 
"  Haven't  I  told  you  a  dozen  times  not  to  walk 
along  that  road  by  yourself?  Why  didn't  you  wait 
for  the  carriage?  Are  you  never  going  to  mind  what 
I  say  to  you?  " 

Eugenia  came  up  the  steps  and  threw  her  books 
on  one  of  the  long  green  benches.  Then  she  seated 
herself  in  a  rocking  chair  and  untied  her  sunbonnet. 

"  I  wa'n't  by  myself,"  she  said.  "  A  boy  was  with 
me." 

"A  boy?     Where  is  he?" 

"  He  ran  away." 

The  general's  great  head  went  back,  and  he  shook 
with  laughter.  "  Bless  my  soul  !  What  did  he 
mean  by  that?     What  boy  was  it,  daughter?  " 

Eugenia  sat  upright  in  the  high  rocker,  fanning 
her  heated  face  with  her  sunbonnet. 

"  The  Burr  boy,"  she  answered. 

The  general  gasped  for  breath,  and  turned  to- 
wards the  hall. 

"Come  out  here,  Chris!"  he  called.  "Here's 
Eugie  been  walking  home  with  the  Burr  boy!  " 

In  a  moment  Miss  Chris's  large  figure  appeared 
in  the  doorway,  and  she  handed  a  brimming  mint 
julep  to  the  general. 

"  I  don't  know  what  Eugie  can  be  made  of,"  she 
remarked.  "  Amos  Burr  was  overseer  for  the  Car- 
ringtons  before  he  got  that  place  of  his  own,  and  I 


62  The  Voice  of  the  People 

remember  just  as  well  as  if  it  were  yesterday  old  Mr. 
Phil  Carrington  telling  me  once,  when  I  was  on  a 
visit  there,  that  the  more  his  man  Burr  worked  the 
less  he  accomplished.  But,  as  for  Eugenia,  that 
isn't  the  worst  about  her.  Just  the  other  morn- 
ing, when  I  was  looking  out  of  the  storeroom  win- 
dow, I  saw  her  with  her  arm  round  the  neck  of  Aunt 
Verbeny's  little  Suke.  I  declare  I  was  so  upset  I  let 
the  quart  pot  fall  into  the  potato  bin!  " 

"  But  there  isn't  anybody  else,  Aunt  Chris,"  pro- 
tested Eugenia,  looking  up  from  her  father's  julep, 
which  she  was  tasting.  "  And  I'm  'bliged  to  have 
a  bosom  friend." 

The  general  shook  until  his  face  was  purple  and 
the  ice  jingled  in  the  glass. 

"Bosom  friend,  you  puss!"  he  roared.  "Why 
can't  you  choose  a  bosom  friend  of  your  own  colour? 
What  do  you  want  with  a  bosom  friend  as  black  as 
the  ace  of  spades?  " 

"O  papa,  she  ain't  black;  she's  jes'  yellow-brown." 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Eugie," 
said  Miss  Chris  severely.  "  Now  go  upstairs  and 
wash  your  face  and  hands  before  dinner.  It  is  al- 
most ready.     I  wonder  where  Bernard  is!  " 

"Can't  I  wait  twell  the  bell  rings?"  Eugenia 
asked;  but  Miss  Chris  shook  her  head  decisively. 

"  Eugenia,  will  you  never  stop  talking  like  a 
darkey?"  she  demanded.  "  How  often  must  I  tell 
you  that  there's  no  such  word  as  '  twell '  ?  Now, 
go  right  straight  upstairs." 

Eugenia  rose  obediently  and  went  into  the  hall. 
She  had  learned  from  her  father  and  the  servants 
not  to  dispute  the  authority  of  Miss  Chris,  though 


The  Voice  of  the  People  63 

she  yielded  to  it  with  a  mild  surprise  at  her  own 
docility. 

"  She  don't  really  manage  me,"  she  had  once  con- 
fided to  Delphy,  the  washerwoman,  "  but  I  jes'  plays 
that  she  does." 


VI 


When  Eugenia  came  downstairs  she  found  the 
family  seated  at  dinner,  Miss  Chris  and  her  father 
beaming  upon  each  other  across  a  dish  of  fried 
chicken  and  a  home-cured  ham.  Bernard  was  on 
Miss  Chris's  right  hand,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the 
table  Eugenia's  seat  separated  the  general  from 
Aunt  Griselda,  who  sat  severely  buttering  her  toast 
before  a  brown  earthenware  teapot  ornamented  by 
a  raised  design  of  Rebecca  at  the  well.  Aunt  Gri- 
selda was  a  lean,  dried-up  old  lady,  with  a  sharp, 
curved  nose  like  the  beak  of  a  bird,  and  smoothly 
parted  hair  brushed  low  over  her  ears  and  held  in 
place  by  a  tortoise-shell  comb.  There  were  deep 
channels  about  her  eyes,  worn  by  the  constant  falling 
of  acrid  tears,  and  her  cheeks  were  wrinkled  and 
yellowed  like  old  parchment. 

Twenty  years  ago,  when  the  general  had  first 
brought  home  his  young  wife,  before  her  buoyancy 
had  faltered,  and  before  the  five  little  head-boards  to 
the  five  stillborn  children  had  been  set  up  amid  the 
periwinkle  in  the  family  graveyard,  Aunt  Griselda 
had  written  from  the  home  of  her  sister  to  say  that 
she  would  stop  over  at  Battle  Hall  on  her  way  to 
Richmond. 

The  general  had  received  the  news  joyfully,  and 
the  best  chamber  had  been  made  ready  by  the  hos- 
pitable hands  of  his  young  wife.     Delicate,  lavender- 


i  The  Voice  of  the  People  65 

scented  linen  had  been  put  on  the  old  tester-bed  and 
curtains  of  flowered  chintz  tied  back  from  the  win- 
dow seats.  Amelia  Battle  had  placed  a  bowl  of  tea- 
roses  upon  the  dressing  table  and  gone  graciously 
down  to  the  avenue  to  welcome  her  guest.  From 
the  family  carriage  Aunt  Griselda  had  emerged 
soured  and  eccentric.  She  had  gone  up  to  the  best 
chamber,  unpacked  her  trunks,  hung  up  her  bomba- 
zine skirts  in  the  closet,  ordered  green  tea  and  toast, 
and  settled  herself  for  the  remainder  of  her  days. 
That  was  twenty  years  ago,  and  she  still  slept  in  the 
best  chamber,  and  still  ordered  tea  and  toast  at  the 
table.  She  had  grown  sourer  with  years  and  more 
eccentric  with  authority,  but  the  general  never  failed 
to  treat  her  crotchets  with  courtesy  or  to  open  the  < 
door  for  her  when  she  came  and  went.  To  the  mild 
complaints  of  Miss  Chris  and  the  protestations  of 
Eugenia  he  returned  the  invariable  warning:  "  She 
is  our  guest — remember  what  is  due  to  a  guest,  my 
dears." 

And  when  Miss  Chris  placidly  suggested  that  the 
privileges  of  guestship  wore  threadbare  when  they 
were  stretched  over  twenty  years,  and  Eugenia  fer- 
vently hoped  that  there  were  no  visitors  in  heaven, 
the  general  responded  to  each  in  turn : 

"  Itjs  the  right  of  a  guest  to  determine  the  length 
of  his  stay,  and,  as  a  Virginian,  my  house  is  open  as 
"long  as  it  has  a  roof  over  it. 

So  Aunt  Griselcta  drank  lier  green  tea  in  acrid  si- 
lence, turning  at  intervals  to  reprove  Bernard  for 
taking  too  large  mouthfuls  or  to  request  Eugenia 
to  remove  her  elbows  from  the  table. 

To-day,  when  Eugenia  descended,  she  was  gazing 
5 


66  The  Voice  of  the  People 

stonily  into  Miss  Chris's  genial  face,  and  listening 
constrainedly  to  a  story  at  which  the  general  was 
laughing  heartily. 

"  Yes,  I  never  look  at  these  forks  of  the  bead  pat- 
tern that  I  don't  see  Aunt  Callowell,"  Miss  Chris  was 
concluding.  "  She  never  used  any  other  pattern, 
and  I  remember  when  Cousin  Bob  Baker  once  sent 
her  a  set  of  teaspoons  with  a  different  border,  she 
returned  them  to  Richmond  to  be  exchanged.  Do 
you  remember  the  time  she  came  to  mother's  when 
we  were  children,  Tom  ?  Eugie,  will  you  have 
breast  or  leg?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  could  have  been  at  home,"  said 
\the  general,  his  face  growing  animated,  as  it  always 
\Hd,  in  a  discussion  of  old  times;  "  but  I  do  remem- 
ber once,  when  I  was  at  Uncle  Robert's,  they  sent 
me  eighteen  miles  on  horseback  for  the  doctor,  be- 
cause Aunt  Callowell  had  such  a  queer  feeling  in  her 
side  when  she  started  to  walk.  I  can  see  her  now 
holding  her  side  and  saying :  '  I  can't  possibly  take 
a  step !  Robert,  I  can't  take  a  step ! '  And  when  I 
brought  the  doctor  eighteen  miles  from  home,  on  his 
old  gray  mare,  he  found  that  she'd  put  a  shoe  on 
one  foot  and  a  slipper  on  the  other." 

The  general  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  un- 
til the  table  groaned,  while  Miss  Chris's  double  chin 
shook  softly  over  her  cameo  brooch. 

Aunt  Griselda  wiped  her  eyes  on  the  border  of  her 
handkerchief. 

"  Aunt  Cornelia  Callowell  was  a  righteous 
woman,"  she  murmured.  "  I  never  thought  that  I 
should  hear  her  ridiculed  in  the  house  of  her  great- 
nephew.     She  scalloped  me  a  flannel  petticoat  with 


The  Voice  of  the  People  67 

her  own  hands.  Eugenia,  in  my  day  little  girls 
didn't  reach  for  the  butter.  They  waited  until  it 
was  handed  to  them." 

Congo,  the  butler,  rushed  to  Eugenia's  assistance, 
and  the  general  shook  his  finger  at  her  and  formed 
the  word  "  guest "  with  his  mouth.  Miss  Chris 
changed  the  subject  by  begging  Aunt  Griselda  to 
have  a  wing  of  chicken. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  so  much  dieting,"  she  said 
cheerfully.  "  I  think  your  nerves  would  be  better 
if  you  ate  more.     Just  try  a  brown  wing." 

"  I  know  my  nerves  are  bad,"  Aunt  Griselda  re- 
joined, still  wiping  her  eyes,  "  though  it  is  hard  to 
be  accused  of  a  temper  before  my  own  nephew.  But 
I  know  I  am  a  burden,  and  I  have  overstayed  my 
welcome.     Let  me  go." 

"  Why,  Aunt  Griselda?  "  remonstrated  Miss  Chris 
in  hurt  tones.  "  You  know  I  didn't  accuse  you  of 
anything.  I  only  meant  that  you  would  feel  better 
if  you  didn't  drink  so  much  tea  and  ate  more 
meat " 

"  I  am  not  too  old  to  take  a  hint,"  replied  Aunt 
Griselda.  "  I  haven't  reached  my  dotage  yet,  and  I 
can  see  when  I  am  a  burden.  Here,  Congo,  you 
may  put  my  teapot  away." 

"O  Lord!"  gasped  the  general  tragically;  and 
rising  to  the  occasion,  he  said  hurriedly :  "  By  the 
way,  Chris,  they  told  me  at  the  post-office  to-day 
that  old  Dr.  Smith  was  dead.  It  was  only  last  week 
that  I  met  him  on  his  way  to  town  with  his  niece's 
daughter,  and  he  told  me  that  he  had  never  been  in 
better  health  in  his  life." 

"  Dear  me !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Chris,  holding  a 


68  The  Voice  of  the  People 

large  spoonful  of  raspberries  poised  above  the  dish 
to  which  she  was  helping.  "  Why,  old  Dr.  Smith 
attended  me  forty  years  ago  when  I  had  measles.  I 
remember  he  made  me  lie  in  bed  with  blankets  over 
me,  though  it  was  August,  and  he  wouldn't  let  me 
drink  anything  except  hot  flax-seed  tea.  They  say 
all  that  has  been  changed  in  this  generation " 

"  Leave  me  plenty  of  room  for  cream,  Aunt 
Chris,"  broke  in  Bernard,  with  an  anxious  eye  on 
Miss  Chris's  absent-minded  manipulations.  She 
reached  for  the  round,  old  silver  pitcher,  and  poured 
the  yellow  cream  on  the  sugared  berries  without 
pausing  in  her  soft,  monotonous  flow  of  words. 

"  But  even  in  those  days  Dr.  Smith  was  behind 
the  times,  and  he  has  been  so  ever  since.  He  used 
to  say  that  chloroform  was  invented  by  infidels,  and 
he  would  not  let  them  give  it  to  his  son,  Lawrence, 
when  he  broke  his  leg  on  the  threshing  machine.  It 
was  a  mania  with  him,  for,  when  I  was  nursing  in  the 
hospitals  during  the  war,  he  told  me  with  his  own 
lips  that  he  believed  the  Lord  was  on  our  side  be- 
cause we  didn't  have  chloroform." 

"  He  had  a  good  many  odd  ideas,"  said  the  gen- 
eral, "  but  he  is  dead  now,  poor  man." 

"  He  raised  up  my  dear  father  when  he  was  struck 
down  with  paralysis,"  murmured  Aunt  Griselda. 

When  dinner  was  over  the  general  returned  to  the 
front  porch,  and  Eugenia  and  the  puppy  went  with 
Bernard  to  the  orchard  to  look  for  green  apples. 

They  started  out  in  single  file;  Bernard,  a  bright- 
faced,  snub-nosed  boy  with  a  girlish  mouth,  a  little 
in  advance,  Eugenia  following,  and  the  puppy  at  her 
heels.     On  the  way  across  the  meadow,  where  myr- 


The  Voice  of  the  People  69 

iads  of  grasshoppers  darted  with  a  whirring  noise 
beneath  the  leaves  of  coarse  mullein  plants  or  the 
slender,  unopened  pods  of  milkweed,  the  puppy 
made  sudden  desperate  skirmishes  into  the  tangled 
pathside,  pointing  ineffectually  at  the  heavy-legged 
insects,  his  red  tongue  lolling  and  his  short  tail 
wagging.  Up  the  steep  ascent  of  the  orchard  a 
rocky  trail  ran,  bordered  by  a  rail  fence.  From  the 
point  of  the  hill  one  could  see  the  adjoining  country 
unrolled  like  a  map,  olive  heights  melting  into 
emerald  valleys,  bare  clearings  into  luxuriant  crops, 
running  a  chromatic  scale  from  the  dry  old  battle- 
fields surrounding  Kingsborough  to  the  arable 
"  bottoms  "  beside  the  enrichening  river. 

After  an  unsuccessful  search  for  cherries  Bernard 
climbed  a  tree  where  summer  apples  hung  green, 
and  tossed  the  fruit  to  Eugenia,  who  held  up  her 
blue  skirt  beneath  the  overhanging  boughs.  The 
puppy,  having  dodged  in  astonishment  a  stray  apple, 
went  off  after  the  silvery  track  of  a  snail. 

"  That's  enough,"  called  Bernard  presently,  and 
he  descended  and  filled  his  pockets  from  Eugenia's 
lap.  "  They  set  my  teeth  on  edge,  anyway.  Got 
any  salt?  " 

Eugenia  drew  a  small  folded  envelope  from  her 
pocket.  Then  she  threw  away  her  apple  and  pointed 
to  the  little  brook  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  "  There's 
that  red-winged  blackbird  in  the  bulrushes  again.  I 
believe  it's  got  a  nest." 

And  they  started  in  a  run  down  the  hillside,  the 
puppy  waddling  behind  with  shrill,  impertinent 
barks. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  hill  they  lost  the  blackbird 


jo  The  Voice  of  the  People 

and  found  Nicholas  Burr,  who  was  lying  face  down- 
wards upon  the  earth,  a  fishing  line  at  his  side. 

"  He's  crying,"  said  Eugenia  in  a  high  whisper. 

Nicholas  rolled  over,  saw  them,  and  got  up,  wip- 
ing his  eyes  on  the  sleeve  of  his  shirt. 

"  There  warn't  nobody  lookin',"  he  said  defiantly. 

"  You're  too  big  to  cry,"  observed  Bernard  dis- 
passionately, munching  a  green  apple  he  had  taken 
from  his  pocket.  "  You're  as  big  as  I  am,  and  I 
haven't  cried  since  I  was  six  years  old.  Eugie 
cries." 

"I  don't!"  protested  Eugenia  vehemently.  "I 
reckon  you'd  cry  too  if  they  made  you  sit  in  the 
house  the  whole  afternoon  and  hem  cup-towels." 

"  I'm  a  boy,  Miss  Spitfire.  Boys  don't  sew.  I 
saw  Nick  Burr  milking,  though,  one  day.  What 
made  you  milk,  Nick?  " 

"  Ma  did." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  anybody  make  me  milk.  You're 
jes'  the  same  as  a  girl." 

"I  ain't!" 

"You  are!" 

"I  ain't!" 

"  'Spose  you  fight  it  out,"  suggested  Eugenia, 
with  an  eye  for  sport,  settling  herself  upon  the 
ground  with  Jim  in  her  lap. 

Nicholas  picked  up  his  fishing  line  and  wound  it 
slowly  round  the  cork.  "  There's  a  powerful  lot  of 
minnows  in  this  creek,"  he  remarked  amicably. 
"  When  you  lean  over  that  log  you  can  catch  'em 
in  your  hat." 

"  Let's  do  it,"  said  Eugenia,  starting  up,  and  they 
went  out  upon  the  slippery  log  between  the  reedy 


The  Voice  of  the  People  71 

banks.  Over  the  smooth,  pebbly  bed  of  the  stream 
flashed  the  shining  bodies  of  hundreds  of  minnows, 
passing  back  and  forth  with  brisk  wriggles  of  their 
fine,  steel-coloured  tails.  On  the  Battle  side  of  the 
bank  a  huge,  blue-winged  dragonfly  buzzed  above 
the  flaunting  red  and  yellow  faces  of  three  tiger- 
lilies. 

Jim  sat  on  the  brookside  and  watched  the  min- 
nows, having  ventured  midway  upon  the  log,  to  re- 
treat at  the  sight  of  his  own  reflection  in  the  water. 

"  He's  a  coward,"  said  Bernard  teasingly,  alluding 
to  the  recreant  Jim.  "  I  wouldn't  have  a  dog  that 
was  a  coward." 

"  He  ain't  a  coward,"  returned  Eugenia  passion- 
ately. "  He  jes'  don't  like  looking  at  his  own  face, 
that's  all.     Here,  Nick,  hand  me  your  hat." 

Nick  obediently  gave  her  his  hat,  and  Eugenia 
leaned  over  the  stream,  her  bare  arms  and  vivid  face 
mirrored  against  the  silvery  minnows,  when  a  shrill 
call  came  from  the  house. 

"Nick!     Who-aNi-ck!" 

"  That's  Sairy  Jane,"  said  Nicholas,  reaching  for 
his  hat.     "  Ma  wants  me." 

"  Who  is  Sairy  Jane?  " 

"  Sister." 

Eugenia  handed  him  his  dripping  hat,  and  stood 
shaking  her  fingers  free  from  the  sparkling  drops. 

"  Will  you  come  and  fish  with  me  to-morrow?  " 
she  asked. 

"  If  I  ain't  got  to  work  in  the  field " 

"  Don't  work." 

"  Can't  help  it." 

The  call  was  repeated,  and  Nicholas  sped  over  the 


72  The  Voice  of  the  People 

mossy  log  and  across  the  ploughed  field,  while  Ber- 
nard and  Eugenia  toiled  up  the  hillside. 

As  they  passed  the  Sweet  Gum  Spring  they  saw 
Delphy,  the  washerwoman,  standing  in  her  doorway, 
quarrelling  with  her  son-in-law,  Moses,  who  was 
hoeing  a  small  garden  patch  in  the  rear  of  an  adjoin- 
ing cabin.  Delphy  was  a  large  mulatto  woman,  with 
a  broad,  flat  bosom  and  enormous  hands  that  looked 
as  if  they  had  been  parboiled  into  a  livid  blue  tint. 

"  'Tain'  no  use  fer  to  hoe  groun'  dat  ain'  got 
no  richness,"  she  was  saying,  shaking  her  huge  head 
until  the  dipper  hanging  on  the  lintel  of  the  door 
rattled,  "  en  'tain'  no  use  preachin'  ter  a  nigger  dat 
ain'  got  no  gumption.  Es  de  tree  fall,  so  hit'  gwine 
ter  lay,  en  es  a  fool's  done  been  born,  so  he  gwine 
ter  die.  'Tain'  no  use  a-tryin'  fer  to  do  over  a 
job  dat  de  Lawd  done  slighted.  You  may  ding 
about  hit  en  you  may  dung  about  hit,  but  ef'n  it 
won't,  hit  won't." 

Moses,  a  meek-looking  negro  with  an  honest  face, 
hoed  silently,  making  no  response  to  his  mother-in- 
law's  vituperations,  which  grew  voluble,  before  his 
non-resistance. 

"  Dar  ain'  no  use  er  my  frettin'  en  perfumin'  over 
dat  ar  nigger,"she  concluded,  as  if  addressing  a  third 
person.  "  He  wuz  born  a  syndicate  en  he'll  die  er 
syndicate.  De  Debbil,  he  ain'  gwine  tu'n  'm  en  de 
Lawd  he  can't.  De  preachin'  it  runs  off  'im  same  es 
water  off  er  duck's  back.  I'se  done  talked  ter  him 
day  in  en  day  out  twell  dar  ain'  no  breff  lef '  fer  me 
ter  blow  wid,  an'  he  ain'  changed  a  hyar  f'om  what 
de  Lawd  made  'im.  Seems  like  he  ain'  got  de  sperit 
uv " 


The  Voice  of  the  People  73 

"Why,  Delphy!"  exclaimed  Bernard,  interrupt- 
ing the  flow  of  speech.  "  What's  the  matter  with 
Moses?" 

Delphy  snorted  contemptuously  and  took  breath 
for  procedure,  when  the  sharp  cry  of  a  baby  came 
from  Moses'  cabin,  and  Eugenia  broke  in  ex- 
citedly : 

"  Why,  there's  a  baby  in  there,  Delphy!  Whose 
baby  is  that?  " 

"  Git  er  long  wid  you,  chile,"  said  Delphy.  "  You 
knows  er  plum  sight  mo'  now'n  you  ought  ter." 
Then  she  added  with  a  snort:  "  Hit's  es  black  es  er 
crow's  foot." 

"  Is  it  Betsey's  baby?  " 

"  I  reckon  'tis.  Moses  he  says  ez  what  'tis,  but 
he's  de  mos'  outlandish  nigger  on  dis  yer  place.  Dar 
ain'  no  relyin'  on  him,  noways." 

"  When  did  it  come,  Delphy?  Who  brought  it? 
I  saw  Dr.  Debs  yesterday,  an'  his  saddle-bag  bulged 
mightily." 

"  De  Lawd  didn't  brung  hit,"  returned  Delphy 
emphatically.  "  De  Lawd  wouldn't  er  teched  hit 
wid  er  ten-foot  pole.  Dis  yer  Moses,  he  ain'  wuth 
de  salt  dat's  put  in  his  bread.  He's  de  wuss  er  de 
hull  lot " 

"  Why  doesn't  Betsey  get  rid  of  him?  "  asked  Ber- 
nard, eyeing  the  shrinking  Moses  with  disfavour. 
"  I  heard  Aunt  Chris  say  that  Mrs.  Willie  Wilson 
in  Richmond  got  a  divorce  from  her  husband  for 
good  and  all " 

"  Lawdy,  chile!  Huccome  you  think  I'se  gwine 
ter  pay  fer  a  dervoge  fer  sech  er  low-lifeted  creetur 
ez  dat  ?     He  ain'  wuth  no  dervogin',  he  ain'.     When 


74  The  Voice  of  the  People 

it  come  ter  dervogin',  I'll  dervoge  'im  wid  my  fis' 
en  foot " 

Here  the  baby  cried  again,  and  the  irate  Delphy 
disappeared  into  Moses'  cabin,  while  the  meek- 
looking  son-in-law  hoed  the  garden  patch  and  mut- 
tered beneath  his  breath. 

The  children  passed  the  spring,  crossed  the  mea- 
dow, and  followed  the  grapevine  trellis  to  the  back 
steps,  when  Eugenia  rushed  through  the  wide  hall 
with  an  impetuous  flutter  of  short  skirts. 

"  Papa!  "  she  cried,  bursting  upon  the  general  as 
he  sat  smoking  upon  the  front  porch.  "  What  do 
you  think  has  happened?  There's  a  new  baby 
came  to  Moses'  cabin,  an'  Delphy  says  it's  as  black 
as 

"Well,  I  am  blessed!"  groaned  the  general, 
knocking  the  ashes  from  his  pipe.  "  Another  mouth 
to  feed.     Eugie,  they'll  ruin  me  yet." 

"  I  reckon  they  will,"  returned  Eugenia  hope- 
lessly. She  seated  herself  upon  the  topmost  step 
and  made  a  place  for  Jim  beside  her. 

The  general  was  silent  for  some  time,  smoking 
thoughtfully  and  staring  past  the  aspens  and  the 
well-house  to  the  waving  cornfield.  When  he  spoke 
it  was  with  embarrassed  hesitation. 

"  I  say,  daughter." 

Eugenia  looked  up  eagerly. 

"  Didn't  that  spotted  cow  of  Moses'  die  last 
week?" 

"  That  it  did,"  replied  Eugenia  emphatically.  "  It 
got  loose  in  your  clover  pasture  and  ate  itself  too 
full.     Moses  says  it  bu'st." 

"Pish!"  exclaimed  the  general  angrily.      "My 


The  Voice  of  the  People  75 

clover!  I  tell  you,  they  won't  leave  me  a  roof  over 
my  head.  They'll  eat  me  into  the  poorhouse.  But 
I'll  turn  them  off.  I'll  send  them  packing,  bag  and 
baggage.     My  clover!  " 

"  Moses  ain't  got  much  of  a  garden  patch,"  said 
Eugenia.  "  It  looks  mighty  poor.  The  potato- 
bugs  ate  all  his  potatoes." 

The  general  was  silent  again. 

"  I  say,  daughter,"  he  began  at  last,  blowing  a 
heavy  cloud  of  smoke  upon  the  air,  "  the  next  time 
you  go  by  Sweet  Gum  Spring  you  had  just  as  well 
tell  Moses  that  I  can  let  him  have  a  side  of  bacon  if 
he  wants  it.  The  rascal  can't  starve.  But  they  won't 
leave  me  a  mouthful — not  one.     And  Eugie " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  needn't  mention  it  to  your  Aunt  Chris " 

At  that  instant  a  little  barefooted  negro  came 
running  across  the  lawn  from  the  spring-house,  a 
large  tin  pail  in  his  hand. 

"Here,  boy!"  called  the  general.  "  Where're 
you  off  to?     What  have  you  got  in  that  pail?  " 

"  It's  Jake,"  said  Eugenia  in  a  whisper,  while  Jim 
barked  frantically  from  the  shelter  of  her  arms. 
"  He's  Delphy's  Jake." 

The  small  negro  stood  grinning  in  the  walk,  his 
white  eyeballs  circling  in  their  sockets.  "  Hit's 
Miss  Chris,  suh,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Miss  Chris,  you  rascal!"  shouted  the  general. 
"  Do  you  expect  me  to  believe  you've  got  Miss 
Chris  in  that  pail?     Open  it,  sir;  open  it!  " 

Jake  showed  a  shining  row  of  ivory  teeth  and 
stood  shaking  the  pail  from  side  to  side. 

"  Miss  Chris,  she  gun  hit  ter  me,  suh,"  he  ex- 


j6  The  Voice  of  the  People 

plained.     "  Hit's  Miss  Chris  herse'f  dat's  done  sont 
me  ter  tote  dish  yer  buttermilk  ter  Unk  Mose." 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  cried  the  general  wrathfully. 
"  Get  away  with  you !  The  whole  place  is  bent  on 
ruining  me.  I'll  be  in  the  poorhouse  before  the 
week's  up."     And  he  strode  indoors  in  a  rage. 


VII 


Twice  a  year,  on  fine  days  in  spring  and  fall,  Aunt 
Griselda's  bombazine  dresses  were  taken  from  the 
whitewashed  closet  and  hung  out  to  air  upon  the 
clothesline  at  the  back  of  the  house,  while  pungent 
odours  of  tar  and  camphor  were  exhaled  from  the 
full  black  folds.  On  these  days  Aunt  Griselda  would 
remain  in  her  room,  sorting  faded  relics  which  she 
took  from  a  cedar  chest  and  spread  beside  her  on  the 
floor.  The  door  was  kept  locked  at  such  times, 
but  once  Eugenia,  who  had  gone  with  Congo  to 
carry  Aunt  Griselda  her  toast  and  tea,  had  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  yellowed  swiss  muslin  frock  and  the 
leather  case  of  a  daguerreotype  containing  the  pic- 
ture of  a  round-eyed  girl  with  rosy  cheeks.  Aunt 
Griselda  had  hidden  them  hastily  away  at  the  child's 
entrance — hidden  them  with  that  nervous,  awkward 
haste  which  dreads  a  dawning  jest  of  itself ;  but  Eu- 
genia had  seen  that  her  old  eyes  were  red  and  her 
voice  more  rasping  than  usual. 

Sixty  years  ago  Aunt  Griselda  had  had  her  ro- 
mance, and  she  still  kept  her  love-letters  tied  up  with 
discoloured  ribbons  and  laid  away  in  the  cedar  chest. 
It  was  but  the  skeleton  of  a  love  story — the  adoles- 
cent ardours  of  a  high-spirited  country  girl  and  the 
high-spirited  son  of  a  neighbouring  farmer.  When 
the  quarrel  came  the  letters  were  overlooked  when 
the  ring  went  back.  Griselda  Grigsby  had  tossed 
them  carelessly  into  the  cedar  chest  and  gone  out  to 


yS  The  Voice  of  the  People 

forget  them.  Her  heart  had  not  been  deeply  touched 
and  it  soon  mended.  No  other  lovers  came,  and  she 
lived  her  quiet  life  in  her  father's  house,  gathering 
garden  flowers  for  the  great,  blue  bowls  in  the 
parlour,  teaching  the  catechism  to  small  black 
slaves,  and  making  stiff,  old-fashioned  samplers  in 
crewels.  The  high-spirited  lover  had  loved  else- 
where and  died  of  a  fever,  and,  beyond  a  passing  re- 
gret, she  thought  little  of  him.  There  were  nearer 
interests,  and  she  was  still  the  petted  daughter  of 
her  father's  house — the  eldest  and  the  best  beloved. 
Then  the  crash  came.  The  old  people  passed  away, 
the  house  changed  hands,  Aunt  Griselda  was 
stranded  upon  the  high  tide  of  hospitality — and 
crewel  work  went  out  of  fashion. 

In  her  sister's  home  she  became  a  constant  guest 
— one  to  be  offered  the  favoured  share  and  to  be 
treated  with  tender,  increasing  tolerance — not  to  be 
loved.  Since  the  death  of  her  parents  none  had 
loved  her,  though  many  had  borne  gently  with  her 
spoiled  fancies.  But  her  coming  in  had  brought 
no  light,  and  her  going  out  had  left  nothing  dark. 
She  was  old  and  ill-tempered  and  bitter  of  speech, 
and,  though  all  doors  opened  hospitably  at  her  ap- 
proach, all  closed  quickly  when  she  was  gone.  Her 
spoiled  youth  had  left  her  sensitive  to  trivial  stings, 
unforgivable  to  fancied  wrongs.  In  a  childish  over- 
sight she  detected  hidden  malice  and  implacable 
hate  in  a  thoughtless  jest.  Her  bitterness  and  her 
years  waxed  greater  together,  and  she  lost  alike  her 
youth  and  her  self-control.  When  she  had  yearned 
for  passionate  affection  she  had  found  kindly  toler- 
ance, and  the  longings  of  her  hidden  nature,  which 


The  Voice  of  the  People  79 

none  knew,  were  expressed  in  rasping  words  and 
acrid  tears.  Once,  some  years  after  Bernard's  birth, 
she  had  called  him  into  her  room  as  she  sat  among 
her  relics,  and  had  shown  him  the  daguerreotype. 

"  It's  pitty  lady,"  the  child  had  lisped,  and  she 
had  caught  him  suddenly  to  her  lean  old  breast,  but 
he  had  broken  into  peevish  cries  and  struggled  free, 
tearing  with  his  foot  the  ruffle  of  the  swiss  muslin 
gown. 

"  Oo  ain't  pitty  lady,"  he  had  said,  and  Aunt  Gri- 
selda  had  risen  and  pushed  him  into  the  hall  with 
sharp,  scolding  words,  and  had  sat  down  to  darn 
the  muslin  ruffle  with  delicate,  old-fashioned  stitches. 

It  was  only  when  all  living  love  had  failed  her  that 
she  returned  to  the  dead.  She  had  gathered  the  let- 
ters of  nearly  sixty  years  ago  from  the  bottom  of  the 
cedar  chest,  reading  them  through  her  spectacles 
with  bleared,  watery  eyes.  Those  subtle  sentimen- 
talities which  linger  like  aromas  in  a  heart  too  aged 
for  passion  were  liberated  by  the  bundle  of  yellow 
scrawls  written  by  hands  that  were  dust.  As  she 
sat  in  her  stiff  bombazine  skirts  beside  the  opened 
chest,  peering  with  worry-ravaged  face  at  the  old 
letters,  she  forgot  that  she  was  no  longer  one  with 
the  girl  in  the  muslin  frock,  and  that  the  inciter  of 
this  exuberant  emotion  was  as  dead  as  the  emotion 
itself. 

When  the  dresses  were  brought  up  to  her  she 
would  put  them  on  again  and  go  down  to  flinch 
before  kindly  eyes  and  to  make  embittered  speeches 
in  her  high,  shrill  voice.  Outwardly  she  grew  more 
soured  and  more  eccentric.  On  mild  summer  even- 
ings she  would  come  down  stairs  with  her  head 


80  The  Voice  of  the  People 

wrapped  in  a  pink  knitted  "  nubia,"  and  stroll 
back  and  forth  along  the  gravelled  walk,  her  gaunt 
figure  passing  into  the  dusk  of  the  cedar  avenue  and 
emerging  like  the  erratic  shadow  of  one  of  the 
sombre  trees. 

Sometimes  Eugenia  joined  her,  but  Bernard,  her 
favourite,  held  shyly  aloof.  In  her  exercise  she 
seldom  spoke,  and  her  words  were  peevish  ones,  but 
there  was  grim  pathos  in  her  carriage  as  she  moved 
slowly  back  and  forth  between  the  straight  rows  of 
box. 

After  supper  the  family  assembled  on  the  porch 
and  talked  in  a  desultory  way  until  ten  o'clock,  when 
the  lights  were  put  out  and  the  house  retired  to  rest. 
Eugenia  slept  in  a  great,  four-post  bedstead  with 
Aunt  Chris,  and  the  bed  was  so  large  and  soft  and 
billowy  that  she  seemed  to  lose  herself  suddenly  at 
night  in  its  lavender-scented  midst,  and  to  be  as 
suddenly  discovered  in  the  morning  by  Rindy,  the 
house-girl,  when  she  came  with  her  huge  pails  of 
warm  water. 

Those  fresh  summer  dawns  of  Eugenia's  child- 
hood became  among  her  dearest  memories  in  after 
years.  There  were  hours  when,  awaking,  wide-eyed, 
before  the  house  was  astir,  she  would  rise  on  her 
elbow  and  look  out  across  the  dripping  lawn,  where 
each  dewdrop  was  charged  with  opalescent  tints,  to 
the  western  horizon,  where  the  day  broke  in  a  cloud 
of  gold.  The  song  of  a  mocking-bird  in  the  poplars 
of  the  little  graveyard  came  to  her  with  unsuspected 
melody — a  melody  drawn  from  the  freshness,  the 
loneliness,  the  half-awakened  calls  from  hidden  nests 
and  the  lyric  ecstasy  of  dawn. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  81 

Then,  with  the  rising  of  the  sun,  Aunt  Chris  would 
turn  upon  her  pillow  and  open  her  soft,  brown 
eyes. 

"  It  is  not  good  for  little  folks  to  be  awake  so 
early,"  she  would  say,  and  there  would  rush  upon 
the  child  a  sense  of  warmth  and  tenderness  and  com- 
fort, and  she  would  nestle  closer  to  her  sweet,  white 
pillow.  With  the  beginning  of  day  began  also  the 
demands  upon  the  time  of  Miss  Chris.  First  the 
new  overseer,  knocking  at  her  door,  would  call 
through  the  crack  that  a  cow  had  calved,  or  that 
one  of  the  sheep  was  too  ill  to  go  to  pasture.  Then 
Rindy,  entering  with  her  pails,  would  shake  a  pes- 
simistic head. 

"  Lawd,  Miss  Chris,  one  er  dem  ole  coons  done 
eat  up  er  hull  pa'cel  er  yo'  chickens."  And  Miss 
Chris,  at  once  the  prop  and  the  mainstay  of  the  Bat- 
tle fortunes,  would  rise  with  anxious  exclamations 
and  put  on  her  full  black  skirt  and  linen  sacque. 

When  breakfast  was  over  Miss  Chris  went  into 
the  storeroom  each  morning  and  came  out  with  a 
basin  of  corn-meal  dough,  followed  by  Sampson 
bearing  an  axe  and  Aunt  Verbeny  jingling  the  hen- 
house keys.  The  slow  procession  then  filed  out  to 
the  space  before  the  hen-house,  the  door  of  which 
was  flung  back,  while  Aunt  Verbeny  clucked  at  a 
little  distance.  Miss  Chris  scattered  her  dough  upon 
the  ground  and,  while  her  unsuspecting  beneficiaries 
made  their  morning  meal,  she  pointed  out  to  Samp- 
son, the  executioner,  the  members  of  the  feathered 
community  destined  to  be  sacrificed  to  the  carniv- 
orous habits  of  their  fellow  mortals. 

"  Feel  that  one  with  the  black  spots,  Sampson," 

6 


82  The  Voice  of  the  People 

she  said  with  the  indifference  of  an  abstract  deity. 
"  Is  it  fat  ?  And  the  domineca  pullet,  and  the  two 
roosters  we  bought  from  Delphy." 

And  when  Sampson  had  seized  upon  the  victims 
of  the  fiat  she  turned  to  inspect  the  bunches  of  fowls 
offered  by  neighbouring  breeders. 

To-day  it  was  Nicholas  Burr  who  stood  patiently 
in  the  background,  three  drooping  chickens  in  each 
hand,  their  legs  tied  together  with  strips  of  a  purple 
calico  which  Marthy  was  making  into  a  dress  for 
Sairy  Jane. 

Seeing  that  Miss  Chris  had  delivered  her  judg- 
ments, he  came  forward  and  proffered  his  captives 
with  an  abashed  demeanour. 

"  How  much  are  they  worth  ?  "  asked  Miss  Chris 
in  her  cheerful  tones,  while  Aunt  Verbeny  gave 
a  suspicious  poke  beneath  one  of  the  flapping  wings, 
followed  by  a  grunt  of  disparagement. 

Nicholas  stammered  confusedly: 

"  Ma  says  the  biggest  ought  to  bring  a  quarter," 
he  returned,  blushing  as  Aunt  Verbeny  grunted 
again,  "  and  the  four  smallest  can  go  for  twenty 
cents." 

But  when  the  bargain  was  concluded  he  lingered 
and  added  shamefacedly :  "  Won't  you  please  let  that 
red-and-black  rooster  live  as  long  as  you  can?  I 
raised  it." 

"  Why,  bless  my  heart !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Chris, 
"  I  believe  the  child  is  fond  of  the  chicken." 

Eugenia,  who  was  hovering  by,  burst  into  tears 
and  declared  that  the  rooster  should  not  die. 

"  Twenty  cents  is  s-o  ch-ea-p  for  a  li-fe,"  she 
sobbed,     "  It  shan't  be  killed,  Aunt  Chris.     It  shall 


The  Voice  of  the  People  83 

go  in  my  hen-h-ou-se."  And  she  rushed  off  to  get 
her  little  tin  bank  from  the  top  bureau  drawer. 

When  the  arrangements  were  concluded  Nicho- 
las started  empty-handed  down  the  box  walk,  the 
money  jingling  in  his  pocket.  At  the  end  of  the 
long  avenue  of  cedars  there  was  a  wide,  unploughed 
common  which  extended  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
along  the  roadside.  In  spring  and  summer  the 
ground  was  white  with  daisies  and  in  the  autumn 
it  donned  gorgeous  vestments  of  golden-rod  and 
sumach.  In  the  centre  of  the  waste,  standing  alike 
grim  and  majestic  at  all  seasons,  there  was  the 
charred  skeleton  of  a  gigantic  tree,  which  had  been 
stripped  naked  by  a  bolt  of  lightning  long  years  ago. 
At  its  foot  a  prickly  clump  of  briars  surrounded 
the  blackened  trunk  in  a  decoration  of  green  or  red, 
and  from  this  futile  screen  the  spectral  limbs  rose 
boldly  and  were  silhouetted  against  the  far-off 
horizon  like  the  masts  of  a  wrecked  and  deserted 
ship.  A  rail  fence,  where  a  trumpet-vine  hung 
heavily,  divided  the  field  from  the  road,  and  several 
straggling  sheep  that  had  strayed  from  the  distant 
flock  stood  looking  shyly  over  the  massive  crimson 
clusters. 

When  Nicholas  came  out  from  the  funereal  dusk 
of  the  cedars  the  field  was  almost  blinding  in  the 
morning  glare,  the  yellow-centred  daisies  rolling  in 
the  breeze  like  white-capped  billows  on  a  sunlit 
sea.  From  the  avenue  to  his  father's  land  the  road 
was  unbroken  by  a  single  shadow — only  to  the  right, 
amid  the  young  corn,  there  was  a  solitary  persim- 
mon tree,  and  on  the  left  the  gigantic  wreck  stranded 
amid  the  tossing  daisies. 


84  The  Voice  of  the  People 

The  sun  was  hot,  and  dust  rose  like  smoke  from 
the  white  streak  of  the  road,  which  blazed  beneath  a 
cloudless  sky. 

The  boy  was  tired  and  thirsty,  and  as  he  tramped 
along  the  perspiration  rose  to  his  forehead  and 
dropped  upon  his  shoulder.  With  a  sigh  of  satis- 
faction he  came  upon  the  little  cottage  of  his  father 
and  saw  his  stepmother  taking  the  clothes  in 
from  the  bushes  where  they  had  been  spread  to 
dry.  It  was  Saturday,  and  ironing  day,  and  he  hoped 
for  a  chance  at  his  lessons  before  night  came,  when 
he  was  so  tired  that  the  facts  would  not  stick  in  his 
brain.  He  thought  that  it  must  be  very  easy  to 
study  in  the  mornings  when  you  were  fresh  and 
eager  and  before  that  leaden  weight  centred  behind 
your  eyeballs. 

When  Marthy  Burr  saw  him  she  called  irritably : 

"I  say,  Nick,  did  they  take  the  chickens?" 

Nicholas  nodded,  and,  crossing  the  weeds  in  the 
garden,  gave  her  the  money  from  his  pocket. 

"  They  didn't  say  nothing  'bout  wantin'  more,  I 
'spose?  Did  you  tell  'em  I  was  fattenin'  them  four 
pairs  of  ducks  ?  " 

Nicholas  shook  his  head.  No,  he  hadn't  told 
them. 

"  Well,  your  pa  wants  you  down  in  the  peanut 
field.  You'd  better  get  a  drink  of  water  first.  You 
look  powerful  red." 

An  hour  later,  when  work  was  over,  he  carried 
his  book  to  the  orchard  and  flung  himself  down  be- 
neath the  trees.  The  judge  had  given  him  a  biog- 
raphy of  Jefferson,  and  he  had  learned  his  hero's 
life  with  lips  and  heart.    The  day  that  it  was  finished 


The  Voice  of  the  People  85 

he  put  the  volume  under  his  arm  and  went  to  the 
rector's  house. 

"  I  want  to  join  the  church,"  he  said  bluntly. 

The  rector,  a  kindly,  middle-aged  man,  with  a  love 
for  children,  turned  to  him  in  half-puzzled,  half- 
sympathetic  inquiry. 

"  You  are  young,  my  child,"  he  replied,  "  to  be 
so  zealous  a  Christian." 

"  'Tain't  that,  sir,"  said  the  boy  slowly.  "  I  don't 
set  much  store  by  that.  But  I've  got  to  go  to 
heaven — because  I  can't  see  Thomas  Jefferson  no 
other  way." 

The  rector  did  not  smile.  He  was  wiser  than  his 
generation,  for  he  left  the  great  man's  own  religion 
to  himself  and  God.     He  said  merely : 

"  When  you  are  older  we  shall  see,  my  boy — we 
shall  see." 

Nicholas  left  with  a  chill  of  disappointment,  but 
as  he  passed  along  the  street  his  name  was  called 
by  Juliet  Burwell,  and  she  fluttered  across  to  him 
in  all  her  mystifying  flounces  and  her  gracious  smile. 

"  I  was  at  the  rector's,"  she  said,  "  and  he  told  me 
that  you  wanted  to  be  confirmed — and  I  want  you  to 
come  into  my  Sunday-school  class." 

Nicholas  met  the  kind  eyes  and  blushed  purple. 
Her  beauty  took  away  his  breath  and  made  his  pulses 
leap.  The  slow,  musical  drawl  of  her  speech  soothed 
him  like  the  running  of  clear  water.  He  felt  the  image 
of  Thomas  Jefferson  totter  upon  its  pedestal,  but  it 
was  steadied  with  a  tremendous  lurch.  Jefferson 
was  a  man,  after  all,  and  this  was  only  a  woman. 

"  Will  you  come?  "  asked  the  soft  voice,  and  he 
stammered  an  amazed  and  awkward  assent. 


VIII 

On  the  Saturday  after  the  day  upon  which  Nicho- 
las had  pledged  himself  to  attend  Sunday-school 
Juliet  Burwell  asked  him  to  come  into  Kingsborough 
and  talk  over  the  lesson  for  the  following  morning. 
At  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  he  dressed  himself 
with  trembling  hands  and  a  perturbed  heart;  and 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  turned  to  look  at  his 
reflection  in  the  small,  cracked  mirror  hanging 
above  the  washstand  in  his  stepmother's  room. 

As  a  finishing  touch  Marthy  Burr  tied  a  flaming 
plaid  cravat  beneath  his  collar. 

"  You  ain't  much  on  looks,"  she  remarked  as 
she  drew  back  to  survey  him,  "  but  you've  got  as 
peart  a  face  as  I  ever  seed.  I  reckon  you'll  be  plenty 
handsome  for  a  man.  I  was  al'ays  kind  of  set 
against  one  of  these  pink  an'  white  men,  somehow. 
They're  pretty  enough  to  look  at  when  you're  feel- 
in'  first-rate,  but  when  you  git  the  neuralgy  they 
sort  of  turns  yo'  stomach.  I've  a  taste  for  sober 
colours  in  men  and  caliky." 

"  I  think  he  looks  beautiful,"  said  Sairy  Jane,  her 
eyes  on  the  cravat,  and  Nicholas  felt  a  sudden  glow 
of  gratitude,  and  silently  resolved  to  save  up  until 
he  had  enough  money  to  buy  her  a  hair  ribbon. 

"  I  ain't  sayin'  he  don't,"  returned  Marthy  Burr 
with  a  severe  glance  in  the  direction  of  her  eldest 
daughter,  who  was  minding  Jubal  in  the  kitchen 


The  Voice  of  the  People  £7 

doorway.  "  Thar's  red  heads  an'  red  heads,  an'  his 
ain't  no  redder  than  the  reddest.  But  he  came  hon- 
estly by  it,  which  is  more  than  some  folks  can  say 
as  is  got  yellow.  His  father  had  it  befo'  him,  an' 
thar's  one  good  thing  about  it,  you've  got  to  be 
born  with  it  or  you  ain't  goin'  to  come  by  it  no  other 
way.  I  never  seed  a  dyer  that  could  set  hair  that 
thar  colour  'cep'n  the  Lord  Himself — an'  I  ain't  one 
to  deny  that  the  Lord  has  got  good  taste  in  His  own 
line." 

Then,  as  Nicholas  took  up  his  hat,  she  added :  "  If 
they  ask  after  me,  Nick,  be  sure  an'  say  I'm  jes' 

Nicholas  nodded  and  went  out,  followed  to  the 
road  by  Sairy  Jane  and  Jubal,  while  his  stepmother 
called  after  him  to  walk  in  the  grass  and  try  to  keep 
his  feet  clean. 

When  he  reached  Kingsborough  and  crossed  the 
green  to  the  Burwell's  house,  which  was  in  the  lane 
called  "  Back  Street,"  he  fell  to  a  creeping  pace,  held 
back  by  the  fluttering  of  his  pulses.  Not  until  he 
saw  Juliet  standing  at  the  little  whitewashed  gate 
did  he  brace  himself  to  the  full  courage  of  approach- 
ing. When  he  spoke  her  name  she  opened  the  gate 
and  gave  him  her  hand,  while  all  sense  of  diffidence 
fell  from  him. 

"  I've  been  looking  at  you  for  a  long  ways,"  he 
said  boldly,  "  an'  you  were  just  like  one  of  them 
tall  lilies  bordering  the  walk." 

She  blushed,  turning  her  clear  eyes  upon  him,  and 
he  felt  a  great  desire  to  kiss  the  folds  of  her  skirt 
or  the  rose  above  her  left  temple.  He  had  never 
seen  any  one  so  good  or  so  kind  or  so  beautiful,  and 


88  The  Voice  of  the  People 

he  vowed  passionately  in  his  rustic  little  heart  that 
he  would  always  love  her  best — best  of  all — that  he 
would  fight  for  her  if  he  might,  or  work  for  her  if 
she  needed  it.  There  was  none  like  her — not  his 
stepmother — not  Sairy  Jane — not  even  Eugenia. 
She  was  different — something  of  finer  clay,  made  to 
be  waited  upon  and  worshipped  like  the  picture  of 
the  goddess  standing  on  the  moon  that  he  had  seen 
in  the  judge's  study. 

Juliet  smiled  upon  his  ardour,  and,  leading  him  to 
a  bench  beneath  a  flowering  myrtle,  made  him  sit 
down  beside  her,  while  she  spoke  pious  things  about 
Adam  and  the  catechism  and  the  salvation  of  the 
world — to  all  of  which  he  listened  with  wide-opened 
eyes  and  a  fluttering  heart.  He  wondered  why  no 
one  had  ever  before  told  him  such  beautiful  things 
about  God  and  the  manifold  importance  of  keeping 
a  clean  heart  and  loving  your  neighbour  as  your- 
self. It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  been  living  in 
sin  for  the  twelve  years  of  his  life  and  he  feared  that 
he  should  find  it  impossible  to  purge  his  mind  of  evil 
passions  and  to  love  the  coloured  boy  Boss  who  had 
stolen  his  best  fishing  line.  He  asked  Juliet  if  she 
thought  he  would  be  able  to  withstand  the  assaults 
of  Satan  as  the  minister  told  him  to  do;  but  she 
laughed  and  said  that  there  was  no  Satan  who  went 
about  like  a  roaring  lion — only  cruelty  and  anger 
and  ill-will,  and  that  he  must  be  kind  to  his  brothers 
and  sisters,  and  to  animals,  and  not  rob  birds'  nests, 
which  was  very  wrong.  Then  she  added  as  an 
afterthought,  with  a  saintly  look  in  her  eyes,  that  he 
must  love  God.  He  promised  that  he  should  try  to 
do  so,  though  he  wished  in  his  heart  that  she  had 


The  Voice  of  the  People  89 

told  him  to  love  herself  instead.  As  he  sat  in  the 
soft  light,  watching  her  beautiful  face  rising  against 
a  background  of  lilies,  his  young  brain  thrilled  with 
the  joy  of  life.  It  was  such  a  glorious  thing  to 
live  in  a  great,  kind  world,  with  a  big,  beneficent 
God  above  the  blue,  and  to  love  all  mankind — not 
harbouring  an  angry  thought  or  an  ill  feeling !  He 
looked  into  the  kind  eyes  beside  him  and  felt  that 
he  should  like  to  be  a  saint  or  a  minister — not  a 
lawyer,  which  might  be  wicked  after  all.  Then  he 
remembered  the  waxen-faced,  choleric  clergyman 
of  the  church  his  stepmother  attended,  but  he  put 
the  memory  away.  No,  he  would  not  be  like  that ; 
he  would  not  preach  fire  and  brimstone  from  a 
white-pine  pulpit.  He  would  be  large  and  just  and 
merciful  like  God ;  and  Juliet  Burwell  would  come 
to  hear  him  preach,  looking  up  at  him  with  her 
blue,  blue  glance.  In  the  meantime  he  would  not 
rob  that  marsh  hen's  nest  which  he  had  found.  He 
would  never  steal  another  egg.  He  wished  that  he 
didn't  have  that  drawerful  at  home.  He  would 
give  them  to  Sairy  Jane  if  she  wanted  them — all 
except  the  snake's  egg,  which  he  might  keep,  because 
serpents  were  an  accursed  race.  Yes,  Sairy  Jane 
might  have  them  all,  and  he  wouldn't  pull  her  hair 
again  when  he  caught  her  looking  at  them  on  the 
sly. 

Presently  Juliet  called  Sally  and  took  him  into 
the  quaint  old  dining-room  and  gave  him  cakes 
and  jam  on  a  table  that  shone  like  glass.  There  he 
saw  Mr.  Burwell — a  pink-cheeked,  little  gentleman 
who  wore  an  expansive  air  of  innocence  and  a  white 
pique  waistcoat — and  Mrs.  Burwell,  a  pretty,  gray- 


90  The  Voice  of  the  People 

haired  woman,  who  ruled  her  husband  with  the 
velvet-pawed  despotism  which  was  the  heritage  of 
the  women  of  her  race  and  day.  She  had  never 
bought  a  bonnet  without  openly  consulting  his  judg- 
ment ;  he  had  never  taken  a  step  in  life  without  un- 
consciously following  hers. 

"  Really,  my  dear  Sally,"  he  had  said  when  he 
heard  of  Nicholas's  reception  by  his  daughter,  "  Ju- 
liet must  a — a — be  taught  to  recognise  the  existence 
of  class.  Really,  I  cannot  have  her  bringing  all 
these  people  into  my  house.  You  must  put  a  stop 
to  it  at  once,  my  dear." 

Mrs.  Burwell  had  smiled  placidly  as  she  patted 
her  gray  fringe. 

"  Of  course  you  know  best,  Mr.  Burwell,"  she  had 
replied  with  that  touching  humility  which  forbade 
her  to  address  her  husband  by  his  Christian  name. 
"  Of  course  you  know  best  about  such  matters,  and 
I'll  tell  Juliet  what  you  say.  Poor  child,  she  has 
such  confidence  in  your  judgment  that  she  will  be- 
lieve whatever  you  say  to  be  right ;  but  she  does  love 
so  to  feel  that  she  is  exerting  a  good  influence  over 
the  boys,  and,  perhaps,  helping  them  to  work  out 
their  future  salvation.  She  thinks,  too,  that  it  is  so 
well  for  them  to  have  a  chance  of  talking  to  you. 
I  heard  her  tell  Dudley  Webb  that  he  must  take  you 
for  an  example " 

"  Ah ! — ahem !  "  said  Mr.  Burwell,  who  wor- 
shipped the  ground  his  daughter  trod  upon.  "  I 
suppose  it  would  be  a  pity  to  interfere  with  her,  eh, 
my  dear?  " 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  wishing  myself,  Mr.  Burwell, 
that  she  would  select  children  of  her  own  class  in 


The  Voice  of  the  People  91 

life,  but,  as  you  say,  she  has  taken  a  fancy  to  that 
Burr  boy,  and  he  seems  to  be  a  decent,  respectful 
kind  of  child.  Of  course  I  know  it  is  your  soft  heart 
that  makes  you  look  at  it  in  this  way — but  I  love  you 
all  the  better  for  it.  I  remember  the  day  you  pro- 
posed to  me  for  the  sixth  time,  I  had  just  seen  you 
bandage  up  the  head  of  a  little  darkey  that  had  cut 
himself — and  I  accepted  you  on  the  spot." 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  love,"  Mr.  Burwell  had  responded, 
kissing  his  wife  as  they  left  the  room.  "  I  am  con- 
vinced that  I  am  right,  and  I  am  glad  that  you 
agree  with  me.     We  won't  speak  of  it  to  Juliet." 

In  the  hall  below  they  met  Nicholas  Burr,  and 
greeted  him  with  hospitable  kindness. 

"  So  this  is  your  new  scholar,  eh,  Juliet  ?  You 
must  do  justice  to  your  teacher,  my  boy." 

Juliet  laughed  and  went  out  into  the  yard  to  meet 
several  young  men  who  were  coming  up  the  walk, 
and  Nicholas  noticed  with  a  jealous  pang  that  she 
sat  with  them  beneath  the  myrtle  and  talked  in  the 
same  soft  voice  with  the  same  radiant  smile.  She 
was  not  speaking  of  heaven  now.  She  was  laugh- 
ing merrily  at  pointless  jokes  and  promising  to  em- 
broider a  handkerchief  for  one  and  to  make  a  box 
of  caramels  for  another. 

He  knew  that  they  all  loved  her,  and  it  gave  him 
a  miserable  feeling.  He  felt  that  they  were  un- 
worthy of  her — that  they  would  not  worship  her  al- 
ways and  become  ministers  for  her  sake,  as  he  was 
going  to  do.  He  even  wondered  if  it  wouldn't  be 
better,  after  all,  to  become  a  prize  fighter  and  to 
knock  them  all  out  in  the  first  round  when  he  got 
a  chance. 


92  The  Voice  of  the  People 

In  a  moment  Juliet  called  him  to  her  side  and  laid 
her  hand  upon  his  arm.  "  He  has  promised  not 
to  rob  birds'  nests  and  to  love  me  always,"  she  said. 

But  the  young  men  only  laughed. 

"  Ask  something  harder,"  retorted  one.  "  Any  of 
us  will  do  that.  Ask  him  to  stand  on  his  head  or  to 
tie  himself  into  a  bow  knot  for  your  sake." 

Nicholas  reddened  angrily,  but  Juliet  told  the  jes- 
ter to  try  such  experiments  himself — that  she  did  not 
want  a  contortionist  about.  Then  she  bent  over  the 
boy  as  he  said  good-bye,  and  he  went  down  the 
walk  between  the  lilies  and  out  into  the  lane. 

He  recrossed  the  green  slowly,  turning  into  the 
main  street  at  the  court-house  steps.  As  he  passed 
the  church,  a  little  further  on,  the  iron  gate  opened 
and  the  rector  came  out,  jingling  the  heavy  keys  in 
his  hand  as  he  talked  amicably  to  a  tourist  who  fol- 
lowed upon  his  heels. 

"  Yes,  my  good  sir,"  he  was  saying  in  his  high- 
pitched,  emphatic  utterance,  "  this  dear  old  church- 
yard is  never  mowed  except  by  living  lawn-mowers. 
I  assure  you  that  I  have  seen  thirty  heads  of  cattle 
upon  the  vaults — positively,  thirty  heads,  sir !  " 

But  the  boy's  thoughts  were  far  from  the  church 
and  its  rector,  and  the  words  sifted  rapidly  through 
his  brain.  He  touched  his  hat  at  the  tourist's  greet- 
ing and  smiled  into  the  clergyman's  face,  but  his 
actions  were  automatic.  He  would  have  nodded  to 
the  horse  in  the  street  or  have  smiled  at  the  sun. 

As  he  passed  the  small  shops  fronting  on  the  nar- 
row sidewalk  and  followed  the  whitewashed  fence 
of  the  college  grounds  until  it  ended  at  the  Old 
Stage  Road,  he  was  conscious  of  the  keen,  pulsating 


The  Voice  of  the  People  93 

harmony  of  life.  It  was  good  to  be  alive — to  feel 
the  warm  sunshine  overhead  and  the  warm  dust 
below.  He  was  glad  that  he  had  been  born,  though 
the  idea  had  never  formulated  itself  until  now.  He 
would  be  very  good  all  his  life  and  never  do  a  wicked 
thing.  It  was  so  easy  to  be  good  if  you  only  wanted 
to.  Yes^lie  would  study  hard  and  become  learned 
in  the  law,  like  those  old  prophets  with  whom  God 
spoke  as  man  with  man.  Then,  when  he  had  grown 
better  and  wiser  than  any  one  on  earth,  his  tongue 
would  become  loosened,  and  he  would  go  forth 
to  preach  the  Gospel,  and  Juliet  would  listen  to  him 
for  his  wisdom's  sake.  Oh,  if  she  would  only  love 
him  best — best  of  all ! 

This  evening  the  road  through  the  wood  did  not 
frighten  him,  though  the  sun  was  down.  He 
thought  neither  of  the  ghosts  that  Uncle  Dan'l  had 
seen,  nor  of  the  bug-a-boos  that  had  chased  Viney's 
husband  home.  He  was  too  old  for  these  things 
now.  He  had  grown  taller  and  stronger  in  a  day. 
When  he  reached  the  pasture  gate  opposite  the 
house  he  opened  it  and  went  in  to  look  for  the  sheep. 

The  west  was  fast  losing  colour,  like  a  bright- 
hued  fabric  that  has  been  drenched  in  water,  and  a 
thick,  blue  mist,  shot  with  fireflies,  shrouded  the 
wide  common.  A  fresh,  sharp  odour  rose  from  the 
dew-steeped  earth,  giving  place,  as  he  gained  upon 
the  flock,  to  the  smell  of  moist  wool.  As  he  brushed 
the  heavy,  purple  tubes  of  Jamestown  weeds  long- 
legged  insects  flew  out  and  struck  against  his  arm 
before  they  fell  in  a  drunken  stupor  to  the  grass 
below. 

The  boy  made  his  way  cautiously,  his  figure  be- 


94  The  Voice  of  the  People 

coming  blurred  as  the  mist  wrapped  him  like  a 
blanket.  The  darkness  was  gathering  rapidly. 
From  the  far-off  horizon  clouds  of  lavender  were 
melting,  and  the  pines  had  gone  gray. 

Presently  a  white  patch  glimmered  in  the  midst 
of  the  pasture,  and  he  began  to  call  softly : 

"  Coo-sheep  !     Coo-sheep  !  " 

A  tremulous  bleat  answered,  but  as  he  neared 
the  flock  it  scattered  swiftly,  the  errant  leaders  dart- 
ing shyly  behind  the  looming  outlines  of  sassafras 
bushes.  Again  he  called,  and  again  the  plaintive  cry 
responded,  growing  fainter  as  several  fleeter  ewes 
sped  past  him  to  the  beech  trees  beside  the  little 
stream. 

The  space  before  the  boy  was  suddenly  spangled 
with  fireflies,  and  the  mist  grew  denser. 

He  broke  off  a  branch  of  sassafras  and  started  at 
a  brisk  run,  rounding  by  some  dozen  yards  the 
startled  ewes.  The  scattered  white  blotches  closed 
together  as  he  ran  towards  them,  and  fled,  bleating, 
to  the  flock  where  it  clustered  at  the  pasture  gate. 

In  a  moment  he  had  driven  them  across  the  road 
and  behind  the  bars  of  the  cow-pen. 

When  he  entered  the  house  a  little  later  he  found 
that  the  family  had  had  supper,  a  single  plate  re- 
maining for  himself.  His  stepmother,  looking  jaded 
and  nervous,  was  putting  salted  herring  to  soak  in 
an  earthenware  bowl,  while  she  scolded  Sairy  Jane, 
who  was  patching  Jubal's  apron. 

"  It's  goin'  on  ten  years  sence  I've  stopped  to 
draw  breath,"  said  Marthy  Burr,  "  an'  I'm  clean 
wore  out.  'Tain't  no  better  than  a  dog's  life,  no- 
how— a  woman  an'  a  dog  air  about  the  only  creeturs 


The  Voice  of  the  People  95 

as  would  put  up  with  it,  an'  they're  the  biggest  pair 
of  fools  the  Lord  ever  made.  Here  I've  been  stand- 
in'  at  the  tub  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  with  my  jaw 
a'most  splittin'  from  my  face,  an'  thar's  yo'  pa 
a-settin'  at  his  pipe  as  unconsarned  as  if  I  wa'nt  his 
lawful  wife — the  more's  the  pity !  It's  the  lawful 
wives  as  have  the  work  to  do,  an'  the  lawfuller  the 
wives  the  lawfuller  the  work.  If  this  here  govern- 
ment ain't  got  nothin'  better  to  do  than  to  drive 
poor  women  till  they  drop  I  reckon  we'd  as  well  stop 
payin'  taxes  to  keep  it  goin'." 

Nicholas  wiped  his  heated  brow  on  his  shirt- 
sleeve and  hung  his  hat  on  the  back  of  a  bottomless 
chair.  Jubal,  who  was  rolling  on  the  floor,  gave  a 
gurgle  and  made  a  grab  at  it,  to  be  soundly  boxed 
by  his  mother  as  she  reseated  him  at  Sairy  Jane's 
feet.  His  gurgle  wavered  dolorously  and  rose  into  a 
howl. 

"  Have  you  been  to  supper,  ma  ?  "  asked  Nicholas 
cheerfully. 

"  Lord,  Nick,  it's  a  long  ways  past  supper-time," 
answered  Sairy  Jane,  relieved  by  the  interruption. 
"  The  things  air  all  washed  up,  ain't  they,  pa  ?  " 

Amos  Burr  scowled  heavily  upon  the  boy's  head, 
his  phlegmatic  nature  goaded  into  resentment  by  his 
wife's  ill-temper  and  the  lamentations  of  Jubal. 

"  I  don't  reckon  you  expect  supper  to  keep  waitin' 
till  breakfast,"  he  said.  "  You've  given  your  ma 
trouble  enough  'thout  makin'  her  do  an  extra  wash- 
in'  up  on  your  o'count.  You've  gone  clean  crazy 
sence  you've  been  loafin'  round  with  them  Battles. 
I  don't  see  as  you  air  much  o'count,  nohow." 

Nicholas  raised  his  eyes  to  his  father's  face  and 


g6  The  Voice  of  the  People 

looked  at  him  fixedly.  For  a  moment  he  did  not 
speak,  and  then  he  said  slowly : 

"  I'm  as  good  as  a  hand  to  you." 

He  was  thinking  doggedly  that  he  had  never  hated 
any  one  so  much  as  he  hated  his  own  father, 
and  that  he  liked  the  sensation.  He  wished  he 
could  do  him  some  real  harm — hit  him  hard  enough 
to  hurt  or  make  the  peanuts  rot  in  the  ground.  He 
should  like  also  to  choke  Jubal,  who  never  left  off 
yelling. 

Amos  Burr  spat  a  mouthful  of  tobacco  juice 
through  the  open  window,  flinching  before  the  boy's 
steady  glance.  He  was  a  mild-natured  man  at  best, 
whose  chief  sin  was  his  softness.  It  would  not  have 
entered  his  slow-witted  head  to  protest  against  the 
accusations  of  his  wife.  When  they  stung  him  into 
revolt  he  revolted  in  the  opposite  direction. 

But  his  failures  were  faults  in  his  son's  eyes.  To 
the  desperate  determination  of  the  boy,  weakness 
became  as  contemptible  as  crime.  What  was  a  man 
worth  who  worked  from  morning  until  night  and 
yet  achieved  nothing?  Of  what  account  was  the 
farmer  whom  the  crows  outwitted  and  the  weather 
made  a  mockery?  Did  not  the  very  crops  cry  out 
as  they  rotted  that  his  father  was  a  fool,  and  the  un- 
ploughed  land  proclaim  him  a  coward?  Had  he 
ever  dared  a  venture  in  his  life  or  risked  a  season? 
And  yet  what  had  ever  returned  at  his  bidding  or 
brought  forth  at  his  planting? 

"  You've  been  mighty  little  use  of  late,"  repeated 
Amos  Burr  stubbornly  when  his  wife  placed  the 
earthenware  bowl  on  the  shelf  and  came  to  the  table 
— her  arm  outstretched. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  97 

"  Now,  you  jes'  take  yourself  right  off,  Amos 
Burr,"  she  said.  "  If  you  can't  behave  decently  to 
my  dead  sister's  child  you  shan't  hang  round  them 
as  was  her  own  flesh  and  blood  kin.  Sairy  Jane, 
you  bring  that  plate  of  hot  corn  pones  from  the 
stove.  Here,  Nick,  set  right  down  an'  eat  your 
supper !  There's  some  canned  cherries  if  you  want 
'em." 

Nicholas  sat  down,  but  the  cornbread  stuck  in  his 
throat  and  the  coffee  was  without  aroma.  He  looked 
at  the  figured  oilcloth  on  the  table  and  thought  of 
the  shining  glass  and  silver  at  Juliet  Burwell's.  The 
flavour  of  the  cake  she  had  given  him  seemed  to 
intensify  his  distaste  for  the  food  before  him.  He 
felt  that  he  cared  for  nobody — that  he  wanted  noth- 
ing. He  looked  at  his  stepmother  and  thought 
that  she  was  dried  and  brown  like  a  hickory  nut; 
he  looked  at  Sairy  Jane  and  wondered  why  she 
didn't  have  any  eyelashes,  and  he  looked  at  Jubal 
and  saw  that  he  was  all  gums. 

When  he  went  up  to  his  little  attic  room  after 
supper  he  sat  on  his  shucks  pallet  in  the  darkness 
and  thought  of  all  the  evil  that  he  should  like  to  do. 
He  should  like  to  pull  Sairy  Jane's  plait  and  to  slap 
Jubal.  He  should  even  like  to  tell  Juliet  Burwell 
that  he  didn't  want  to  keep  a  clean  heart,  and  to  call 
God  names.  No,  he  would  not  become  a  minister 
and  preach  the  Gospel.  He  would  be  a  thief  instead 
and  break  into  hen-houses  and  steal  chickens.  If 
his  father  planted  watermelons  he  would  steal  them 
from  the  vines  as  soon  as  they  were  ripe.  Perhaps 
Eugenia  would  help  him.  At  any  rate  he  would  go 
halves  with  her  if  she  would  be  his  partner  in  wicked- 


The  Voice  of  the  People 

ness.     He  had  just  as  soon  go  to  hell,  after  all — if 
it  were  not  for  Thomas  Jefferson. 

He  leaned  his  head  on  his  hands  and  looked 
through  the  narrow  window  to  where  the  peanut 
fields  lay  in  blackness.  From  the  stable  came  the 
faint  neigh  of  the  old  mare,  and  he  remembered 
suddenly  that  he  had  forgotten  to  put  straw  in  her 
stall  and  to  loosen  her  halter  that  she  might  lie 
down.  He  rose  and  stole  softly  downstairs  and  out 
of  the  house. 


IX 


One  evening  in  late  autumn  Nicholas  went  into 
Delphy's  cabin  after  supper  and  found  Eugenia 
seated  upon  the  hearth,  facing  Uncle  Ish  and  Aunt 
Verbeny.  Between  them  Delphy's  son-in-law, 
Moses,  was  helping  Bernard  mend  a  broken  hare 
trap,  while  Delphy,  herself,  was  crooning  a  lullaby 
to  one  of  her  grandchildren  as  she  carded  the  wool 
which  she  had  taken  from  a  quilt  of  faded  patchwork. 
On  the  stones  of  the  great  fireplace  the  red  flames 
from  lightwood  splits  leaped  over  a  smouldering 
hickory  log,  filling  the  cabin  with  the  penetrating 
odour  of  burning,  resinous  pine.  From  the  wall 
above  the  hearth  a  dozen  roasting  apples  were  sus- 
pended by  hemp  strings,  and  as  the  heat  penetrated 
the  russet  coats  the  apples  circled  against  the  yawn- 
ing chimney  like  small  globes  revolving  about  a  sun. 

Eugenia  was  sitting  silently  in  a  low,  split-bot- 
tomed chair,  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap  and  her 
animated  eyes  on  the  dark  faces  across  from  her, 
over  whose  wrinkled  surfaces  the  dancing  firelight 
chased  in  ruddy  lights  and  shadows. 

Uncle  Ish  had  stretched  his  feet  out  upon  the 
stones,  and  the  mud  adhering  to  his  rough,  home- 
made boots  was  fast  drying  before  the  blaze  and 
settling  in  coarse  gray  dust  upon  the  hearth.  His 
gnarled  old  palms  lay  upward  on  his  knees,  and  his 
grizzled  head  was  bowed  upon  his  chest.     At  inter- 


ioo  The  Voice  of  the  People 

vals  he  muttered  softly  to  himself,  but  his  words 
were  inaudible — suggested  by  some  far-off  and  dis- 
connected vision.  Aunt  Verbeny  was  nodding  in 
her  chair,  arousing  herself  from  time  to  time  to  give 
a  sharp  glance  into  the  face  of  Uncle  Ish. 

"  Huccome  dey  let  you  out  ter-night,  honey?" 
asked  Delphy  suddenly,  turning  her  eyes  upon 
Eugenia  as  she  drew  a  fresh  handful  of  wool  from 
between  the  covers  of  the  quilt. 

"  I  ran  away,"  replied  the  child  gravely.  "  I  saw 
Bernard  with  his  hare  trap,  and  Bernard  shan't  do 
nothin'  that  I  can't  do." 

"  Yes,  I  shall,"  rejoined  Bernard  without  looking 
up  from  his  trap.     "  You  can't  wear  breeches." 

"  I  like  to  know  why  I  can't,"  demanded  Euge- 
nia. "  I  put  on  a  pair  of  your  old  ones  and  they  fit 
me  just  as  well  as  they  do  you — only  Aunt  Chris 
made  me  get  out  of  them." 

"  Sakes  er  live!  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Verbeny,  awak- 
ing from  her  doze. 

Uncle  Ish  stared  dreamily  into  the  flames.  "  Ole 
Miss  wuz  in  her  grave,  she  wuz,"  he  muttered,  while 
Delphy  looked  at  him  and  shook  her  head  mys- 
teriously. 

Then,  as  Nicholas  entered,  they  made  a  place  for 
him  upon  the  hearthstones,  treating  him  with  the 
forbearing  tolerance  with  which  the  well-born  negro 
regards  the  low-born  white  man. 

"  Pa  wants  you  all  to  help  him  in  peanut-picking 
to-morrow,"  said  Nicholas,  addressing  the  group  in- 
discriminately- "  He's  late  at  it  this  year,  but  he's 
been  laid  up  with  rheumatism." 

"  Dar  am'  nuttin'  ez  goes  on  two  foot  er  fo'  ez 


The  Voice  of  the  People  101 

won'  len'  er  han'  at  a  pickin',"  remarked  Uncle  Ish 
as  the  boy  sat  down.  "  Dar  ain'  nuttin'  in  de  shape 
er  man  er  crow  ez  won't  he'p  demse'ves  w'en  day's 
lyin'  roun'  loose,  nuther." 

"  Dar's  gwine  ter  be  er  killin'  fros'  fo'  mawnin','' 
said  Moses,  his  teeth  chattering  from  the  draught 
let  in  by  the  opening  door.  "  Hit  kilt  all  Miss  Chris' 
hop  vines  las'  year,  en  it'll  kill  all  ez  ain't  under 
kiver  ter-night.  Hit  seems  ter  sort  er  lay  holt  er 
yo'  chist  en  clean  grip  hit." 

"  You  ain'  never  had  no  chist,  nohow,"  remarked 
Delphy  disdainfully.  "  Hit  don't  take  mo'n  er  spit 
er  fros'  ter  freeze  thoo  you.  You  de  coldest  innered 
somebody  I  ever  lay  eyes  on.  Dar  mought  ez  well 
be  er  fence  rail  er  roun'  on  er  winter  night  fer  all 
de  wa'mth  ez  is  in  yo'  bones." 

"  Dat's  so,"  admitted  Moses  shamefacedly. 
"  Dat's  so.  Dese  yer  nights,  when  de  fire  is  all  gone, 
is  moughty  near  ter  freezin'  me  out  er  house  en 
home.  I  ain'  never  seed  ne'r  quilt  ez  wuz  made  fur 
er  hull  fambly  yit.  Wid  me  ter  pull  en  Betsey  ter 
pull  en  de  chillun  ter  pull,  whar  de  quilt  ?  " 

"  Dar  ain'  no  blankets  dese  days,"  said  Uncle  Ish 
sadly.  "  Dey  ain'  got  mo'n  er  seasonin'  er  wool  in 
dese  yer  sto'  stuff.  Dey  wa'nt  dat  ar  way  in  ole 
times,  sis  Verbeny.  Bless  yo'  soul,  sis  Verbeny,  dey 
wan't  dat  ar  way." 

"  Ole  Miss  she  use  ter  have  eve'y  stitch  er  her 
wool  carded  fo'  her  own  eyes,"  said  Aunt  Verbeny. 
"  What  wa'nt  good  enough  fer  her  wuz  good  enough 
fer  de  res',  en  we  got  hit.  Ef'n  de  briars  wouldn't 
come  out'n  it  soon  ez  she  laid  her  han'  on  'em,  Ole 
Miss  she  turnt  up  her  nose  en  thowed  de  wool  on 


102  The  Voice  of  the  People 

ter  de  niggers'  pile.  Hit  had  ter  be  pisonous  white 
en  sof  fo'  hit  'ud  tech  Ole  Missusses  skin.  Noner 
yo'  nappy  stuff  done  come  near  her." 

Uncle  Ish  chuckled  and  hung  his  head  on  his 
breast. 

"  Doze  wuz  times!  "  he  cried,  "  doze  wuz  times,  en 
dese  ain't  times!  " 

Then  he  looked  at  Nicholas,  who  was  watching 
the  apples  spinning  in  the  heat. 

"  De  po'  white  trash  am'  set  foot  inside  my  do'," 
he  added,  "  en  de  leetle  gals  ain'  flirt  roun'  twell  dar 
wa'nt  no  qualifyin'  der  legs  f'om  der  arms." 

"  I  don't  care!  "  said  Eugenia,  looking  defiantly  at 
Uncle  Ish. 

"  Lor',  chile,  don't  teck  on  dat  way,"  remonstrated 
Aunt  Verbeny.  "  You  ain't  had  no  raisin'  noways, 
en  dar  ain'  been  nobody  ter  brung  you  up  'cep'n 
yo'  pa.  Hit's  de  foolishness  uv  Miss  Chris  ez  has 
overturnt  de  hull  place." 

"  She's  a-settin'  moughty  prim  now,"  continued 
Uncle  Ish,  his  eyes  on  the  little  girl.  "  She  des'  es 
prim  es  ef  she  wuz  chiny  en  glass,  but  I'se  had  my 
eye  on  'er  afo'  dis.  I'se  done  tote  'er  in  dese  arms 
when  she  wa'nt  knee  high  ter  Marse  Tom's  ole  mule 
Jenny,  en  she  ain't  cut  nairy  er  caper  dat  I  ain't 
'sperienced  hit." 

"  I  don't  care,"  retorted  Eugenia. 

"  Ain't  I  done  see  her  plump  right  out  whar  sis 
Delphy  wuz  a-wallopin'  her  leetle  nigger  Jake,  en 
holler  out  dat  Jake  ain'  done  lay  han's  on  her  pa's 
watermillion — 'case  she  done  steal  'em  herse'f  ?  " 

"I  don't  care!"  repeated  Eugenia  with  tearfnl 
defiance. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  103 

"  An'  she  ain'  no  mo'  steal  dat  ar  watermillion 
den  I  is,"  finished  Uncle  Ish  triumphantly. 

"  It  was  just  a  lie,"  said  Bernard.  "  Eugie,  you 
know  where  liars  go." 

"  Des'  ez  straight  ter  de  bad  place  ez  dey  kin 
walk,"  added  Aunt  Verbeny  severely.  "  Des'  ez 
straight  ez  de  Lord  kin  sen'  'em  dar." 

"  It  was  a  good  lie,"  declared  Nicholas,  in  manful 
defence  of  the  weak.  "  I  don't  believe  she's  goin'  to 
be  damned  for  a  good  lie  and  a  little  one,  too." 

"  Well,  dar's  lies  en  dar's  lies,"  put  in  Delphy  con- 
solingly, "  an'  I  'low  dat  dar's  mo'  in  de  manner  uv 
lyin'  den  in  de  lie.  Some  lies  is  er  long  ways  sweeter 
ter  de  tas'  den  Gospel  trufe.  Abraham,  he  lied,  en 
it  ain't  discountenance  him  wid  de  Lord.  Marse 
Tom,  he  lied  when  he  wuz  young,  en  it  spar'd  'im  er 
whoppin'.  Hit's  er  plum  fool  ez  won't  spar'  dere 
own  hinder  parts  on  er  'count  uv  er  few  words." 

"  George  Washington  didn't,"  said  Bernard. 

"  I  wish  he  had,"  added  Eugenia.  "  Aunt  Chris 
made  me  read  about  him  and  his  old  cherry  tree 
when  I  told  her  the  red  rooster  was  setting,  because 
I  didn't  want  her  to  kill  him." 

"  Ma  asked  me  once  if  I  had  been  fishin'  when  she 
told  me  to  clean  out  the  spring,"  said  Nicholas 
thoughtfully,  "  an'  I  said  yes." 

"  What  did  she  say?  "  asked  Bernard. 

"  Nothin'.     She  whacked  me  on  the  head." 

Just  then  Betsey  came  in  with  her  baby  in  her 
arms,  and  Moses  shuffled  aside  to  give  place  to  her, 
cowed  by  an  admonishing  glance  from  his  mother- 
in-law. 

"  Bless  de  Lord!  "  exclaimed  Uncle  Ish,  lifting  his 


I04  The  Voice  of  the  People 

withered,  old  hands.  "  Ef  dar  ain'  anur  er  Betsey's 
babies !     How  many  is  de,  Mose  ?  " 

Moses  scratched  his  head  and  shrank  into  the 
corner. 

"  I  ain'  done  straighten  'em  out  yit,  Unk  Ish,"  he 
returned  slowly.  "  'Pears  like  soon  es  I  done  add 
'em  all  up  anur  done  come,  an'  I  has  ter  kac'late 
f  om  de  bottom  agin.  I  ain'  got  no  head  fer  Aggers, 
nohow.  Betsey,  she  lays  dat  dar's  ten  uv  'em,  but 
ter  save  my  soul  I  can't  mek  out  mo'n  eight." 

"  Dar's  nearer  er  dozen,"  rejoined  Betsey  with 
offended  pride,  "  dar's  nearer  er  dozen  'cordin'  ter  de 
way  I  count." 

"  Dar  now !  "  cried  Aunt  Verbeny.  "  I  ain'  never 
trus'  no  nigger's  cac'lations  yit,  en  I  ain'  gwine 
ter  now.  When  I  wants  countin',  I  want  white  folks' 
countin'." 

"  Dey  tell  me,"  said  Delphy,  glancing  sternly  at 
the  head  on  Betsey's  knee,  "  dat  de  quality  don'  set 
demse'ves  up  on  er  pa'sel  er  chillun  no  mo'.  De 
time  done  gone  by.  My  Mahaly,  she  went  up  ter 
some  outlandish  place  wid  er  wild  Injun  name,  like 
Philadelphy,  en  she  sez  de  smaller  de  fambly  de  mo' 
stuck  up  is  de  heads  er  it.  She  sez  ef  Ole  Miss  had 
gone  up  dar  a-puttin'  on  airs  'case  er  her  fifteen 
chillun,  she  wouldn't  never  have  belt  up  'er  head 
no  mo'.  Mahaly,  she  ain'  mah'ed  no  man,  she  ain't. 
She  sez  en  ole  maid  in  Philadelphy  des'  looks  right 
spang  over  all  de  heads,  she's  so  sot  up." 

"  'Tain'  so  yer,"  said  Aunt  Verbeny  feelingly. 
1  'Tain'  so  yer.  Hit  seems  like  de  'oman  nairy  a 
man  is  laid  claim  ter  ain'  wuth  claimin'.  Ain'  dat 
so,  bro'  Ish?  " 


The  Voice  of  the  People  105 

But  Uncle  Ish  only  grunted  in  retort,  his  head 
nodding  drowsily.  The  tremulous  tracery  the  wood- 
fire  cast  upon  his  face  gave  it  an  expression  of  dumb 
intensity  which  adumbrated  all  the  pathos  and  the 
patience  of  his  race. 

"  Mahaly  wuz  er  likely  gal,"  went  on  Aunt  Ver- 
beny,  "  an'  when  she  las'  come  home,  she  wuz  a-war- 
in'  spike-heeled  shoes  en  er  veil  uv  skeeter  net- 
tin'.  'Tain'  so  long  sence  Rhody's  Viney  went  to 
Philadelphy,  too,  but  she  ain'  had  no  luck  sence 
she  wuz  born  er  twin.     Hit  went  clean  agin  'er." 

"  Lord  a-mercy,  Aunt  Verbeny,  she  ain't  a-comin' 
back  dis  way?"  asked  Betsey,  probing  the  apples 
with  a  small  pine  stick  and  giving  the  softest  to 
Eugenia. 

Aunt  Verbeny  shook  her  head. 

"  She  ain'  never  had  no  luck  on  er  'count  er  bein' 
er  twin,"  she  said.  "  When  she  sot  herse'f  on 
a-gwine  up  ter  de  Yankees,  Marse  Tom,  he  tuck  er 
goose  quill  en  wrote  out  'er  principles*  des'  es  plain 
es  writin'  kin  be  writ — which  ain't  plain  enough  fer 
my  eyes — en  he  gun'  'em  ter  Viney  wid  his  own 
han's.  Viney  tuck  'n  put  'em  safe  'way  down  in  de 
bottom  uv  'er  trunk  en  went  'long  ter  de  Yankees. 
But  she  ain'  been  dar  mo'n  er  week  when  one  night 
she  went  a-traipsin'  out  on  de  street  en  lef  er  prin- 
ciples behint  'er,  en,  bless  yo'  life,  oner  dem  ar 
Yankees  breck  right  in  en  stole  'em  smack  'way  f'om 
'er.  Yo'  trunk  is  a  moughty  risky  place  ter  kyar 
yo'  principles,  but  Viney,  she  wuz  dat  sot  up." 

A  nod  of  assent  passed  round  the  group.  The 
children  ate  their  apples  silently,  and  Moses  got  up 
*  Recommendations. 


106  The  Voice  of  the  People 

to  put  fresh  wood  on  the  fire.  As  the  green  log  fell 
among  the  smouldering  chips  vivid  tongues  of  flame 
shot  up  the  smoked  old  mortar  of  the  chimney,  and 
the  remaining  apples  burst  their  brown  peels  and 
sent  out  little  rivulets  of  juice.  The  crackling  of  the 
fresh  bark  made  a  cheerful  accompaniment  to  the 
chirping  of  a  cricket  hidden  somewhere  in  the 
hearthstones. 

"  Dar  now,  bro'  Ish!  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Verbeny, 
watching  Eugenia  as  she  sat  in  the  dull  red  glare. 
"  Ef  dat  chile  ain't  de  patt'en  er  young  Miss  Meeley, 
I'se  clean  cracked  in  my  head,  I  is.  I  'members  Miss 
Meeley  des'  ez  well  ez  'twuz  yestiddy  de  day  Marse 
Tom  brung  her  home  en  de  niggers  stood  a-bowin' 
en  axin'  howdy  at  de  gate.  She  wuz  all  black  en 
white  en  cold  lookin'  twell  she  smiled,  en  den  it  wuz 
des'  like  er  lightwood  blaze  in  'er  eyes." 

Uncle  Ish  nodded  dreamily. 

"  I  use  ter  ride  erlong  wid  Marse  Tom  ter  co'te 
'er,"  he  said,  "  en  de  gent'men  wuz  a-troopin'  ter  see 
her  in  vayous  attitudes.  Dey  buzzed  roun'  'er  de 
same  ez  bees,  but  she  ain'  had  no  eyes  fer  none 
'cep'n  Marse  Tom." 

At  that  instant  the  door  opened,  and  Rindy  rushed 
in,  breathlesly  pursuing  Eugenia. 

"Miss  Chris  is  pow'ful  riled,"  she  announced,  "an' 
Marse  Tom  is  a-stampin'  roun'  same  ez  er  bull. 
I  reckon  you'se  gwine  ter  ketch  it  when  dey  once 
gits  dere  han's  on  you."  Then,  as  her  eye  fell  on 
Nicholas,  she  assumed  an  indignant  air.  "  Dis  ain't 
de  place  fer  po'  folks,"  she  added. 

Eugenia  rose  and  put  a  roasted  apple  in  her 
pocket. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  107 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to  catch  anything  that  Bernard 
doesn't  catch,"  she  said.  "  When  he  goes  I'm  goin' 
too." 

And  she  went  out,  followed  by  Rindy  and  the 
boys. 

The  first  breath  of  the  chill  atmosphere  brought 
a  glow  to  Nicholas's  cheek,  and  he  started  at  a  brisk 
run  across  the  fields.  He  had  gone  but  a  few  yards 
when  he  was  checked  by  Eugenia's  voice. 

"Nick!  "she  called. 

Her  small,  dark  shadow  was  falling  on  the  ground 
beside  him,  and  by  the  light  of  the  pale  moon  he 
could  see  the  fog  of  her  breath. 

As  he  went  towards  her  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Here's  an  apple  I  saved  for  you,"  she  panted. 
"  And — and  I  don't  mind  about  your  being  poor 
white  trash! " 

He  took  the  apple,  but  before  the  reply  left  his 
lips  she  had  darted  from  him  and  was  speeding 
homeward  across  the  glimmering  whiteness  of  the 
frost. 


BOOK   II 

A   RAINY   SEASON 


BOOK    II 

A   RAINY   SEASON 


Mrs.  Jane  Dudley  Webb  was  a  lady  who  sup- 1 
ported  an  impossible  present  upon  an  important  I 
past.  She  had  once  been  heard  to  remark  that  if 
she  had  not  something  to  look  back  upon  she  could 
not  live:  and,  as  her  retrospective  view  was  racial 
rather  than  individual,  the  consolation  attained 
might  be  considered  disproportionate  to  the  needs 
of  the  case.  The  lines  of  her  present  had  fallen  in 
a  white  frame  house  in  the  main  street  of  Kings- 
borough;  those  of  her  past  began  with  the  first 
Dudley  who  swung  a  lance  in  Merry  England,  to 
end  with  irascible  old  William  of  the  name,  who 
slept  in  the  family  graveyard  upon  James  River. 

Mrs.  Webb  herself  was  straight  and  elegant,  and 
inclined  to  the  ironical,  when,  as  Jane  Dudley,  the 
belle  of  the  country-side,  she  fired  the  fancy  of  young 
Julius  Webb,  an  officer  in  the  cavalry  of  the  United 
States.  He  danced  a  minuet  with  her  at  a  ball  in 
Washington,  was  heard  to  swear  an  oath  by  her  eyes 
at  punch  before  the  supper  was  over;  and  proceeded 
the  following  week  to  spur  his  courtship  upon  old 
William  as  daringly  as  he  had  ever  spurred  his  horse 
upon  an  Indian  wigwam. 


1 1 2  The  Voice  of  the  People 

The  last  Dudley  of  the  Virginian  line  withstood, 
through  several  stormy  years,  the  united  appeals  of 
his  daughter  and  her  lover.  In  the  end  he  yielded, 
subdued  by  opposition  and  gout,  retaining  the 
strength  to  insert  but  a  single  stipulation  in  the  mar- 
riage contract,  to  the  effect  that  his  daughter  should 
drop  the  name  of  Jane  and  be  known  as  Dudley  in 
her  husband's  household.  To  this  the  dashing 
bridegroom  acquiesced  with  readiness,  and  when, 
within  a  year  of  the  wedding,  his  wife  presented  him 
with  a  son,  he  called  the  boy,  as  he  called  the  mother, 
by  her  maiden  name. 

He  was  a  jovial  young  buck,  who  lived  in  his 
cards  and  his  cups  and  loathed  a  quarrel  as  he  loved 
a  fight. 

When  the  war  between  the  States  arose  he  went 
with  Virginia,  caring  little  for  either  cause,  but  con- 
scious that  his  heart  was  where  his  home  was.  So 
he  kissed  the  young  mother  and  the  boy  at  her  side 
and  rode  lightly  away  with  a  laugh  upon  his  lips,  to 
fall  as  lightly  in  the  mad  charge  of  cavalry  at  Brandy 
Station. 

When  the  news  came  Jane  Dudley  listened  to  it 
in  silence,  her  hands  clasping  the  worsteds  she  was 
winding.  After  the  words  were  spoken  she  laid  the 
worsteds  carefully  aside,  stooping  to  pick  up  a  fallen 
ball.     Then  she  crossed  the  room  and  went  upstairs. 

She  said  little,  refusing  herself  alike  to  consolation 
and  to  acquaintances,  spending  her  days  in  the  shut- 
tered house  with  her  boy  beside  her.  Wrhen  he 
fretted  at  the  restraint  she  tied  a  band  of  crepe  on 
his  little  jacket  and  sent  him  to  play  on  the  green, 
while  she  took  up  her  worsteds  again  and  finished 


The  Voice  of  the  People  1 1 3 

the  muffler  she  had  been  crocheting.  If  she  wept 
it  was  in  secret,  when  the  lights  were  out. 

Some  years  later  the  house  was  sold  over  her  head, 
but  when  she  stood,  penniless,  upon  the  threshold 
it  was  to  cross  it  as  haughtily  as  she  had  done  as  a 
bride.  The  stiff  folds  of  her  black  silk  showed  no 
wavering  ripple,  the  repose  of  her  lips  betrayed 
no  tremor.  The  smooth,  high  pompadour  of  her 
black  hair  passed  as  proudly  beneath  the  arched 
doorway  as  it  had  done  in  the  days  of  her  wifehood 
and  Julius  Webb. 

Her  neighbours  opened  their  wasted  stores  to  her 
need,  and  out  of  their  poverty  offered  her  abundance, 
but  she  put  aside  their  proffered  assistance  and 
undertook,  unaided,  the  support  and  education  of 
her  child,  maintaining  throughout  the  struggle  her 
air  of  unflinching  irony.  She  moved  into  a  small 
white  frame  house  opposite  the  church,  and  let  out 
her  spare  rooms  to  student  boarders.  Her  pride 
was  never  lowered  and  her  crepe  was  never  laid 
aside.  She  sat  up  far  into  the  night  to  darn  the 
sleeves  of  her  black  silk  gown,  but  the  stitches  were 
of  such  exquisite  fineness  that  in  the  dim  light  of 
her  drawing-room  they  seemed  but  an  added  gloss. 

From  behind  the  massive  coffee  urn  at  the  head 
of  her  table  she  regarded  her  boarders  as  so  many 
beneficiaries  upon  her  bounty.  When  she  passed  a 
cup  of  coffee  she  seemed  to  confer  an  honour;  when 
she  returned  a  receipted  bill  it  was  as  if  she  repulsed 
an  insult.  People  said  that  she  had  been  born  to 
greatness  and  that  she  had  never  adapted  herself  to 
the  obscurity  that  had  been  thrust  upon  her — but 
they  said  it  when  her  back  was  turned.     To  her  face 

8 


114  The  Voice  of  the  People 

the  subject  was  never  broached,  and  her  former  pros- 
perity was  ignored  along  with  her  present  poverty. 
Of  her  own  sorrows  she,  herself,  made  no  mention. 
When  she  spoke  from  the  depths  of  her  bitterness 
of  the  war  and  the  ruin  it  had  left,  her  resentment 
was  general  rather  than  personal.  Above  the  man- 
tel in  her  room  hung  the  sword  of  Julius  Webb, 
sheathed  under  the  tattered  colours  of  the  Confed- 
erate States.  At  her  throat  she  wore  a  button  that 
had  been  cut  from  a  gray  coat,  and,  once,  after  the 
close  of  the  war,  she  had  pointed  to  it  before  a 
Federal  officer,  and  had  said :  "  Sir,  the  women  of  the 
South  have  never  surrendered!  "  The  officer  had 
looked  at  the  face  above  the  button  as  he  answered: 
"  Madam,  had  the  women  of  the  South  fought  its 
battles,  surrender  would  have  been  for  the  men  of 
the  North."  But  Jane  Webb  had  smiled  bitterly  in 
silence.  To  her  the  Federal  officer  was  but  an  indi- 
vidual member  of  a  national  army  of  invasion,  and 
the  rights  of  the  victors,  the  wrongs  of  Virginia. 

Her  neighbours  regarded  her  with  almost  passion- 
ate pride — rebuking  their  more  generous  natures  by 
the  sight  of  her  unbowed  beauty  and  her  solitary 
revolt.  When  young  Dudley  grew  old  enough  to 
attend  school  the  general  and  the  judge  called  to- 
gether upon  his  mother  and  offered,  with  hesitancy, 
to  undertake  his  education. 

"  He  is  only  a  year  or  two  older  than  my  Tom," 
began  the  judge,  tripping  in  his  usually  steady 
speech.  "  I  assure  you  it  will  give  me  pleasure  to 
have  the  boys  thrown  together." 

Mrs.  Webb  bowed  in  unaffirmative  fashion. 

"  On  my  life,  ma'am,  I  can't  forget  that  Julius 


The  Voice  of  the  People  1 1 5 

Webb  fell  at  Brandy  Station,"  put  in  the  general 
hotly.  "  Your  husband  died  for  Virginia,  and  your 
boy  shall  not  want  while  I  have  a  penny  in  my 
pocket.  I'll  send  him  to  college  with  Bernard,  and 
feel  it  to  be  a  privilege!  " 

Mrs.  Webb  bowed  again. 

"A  great  privilege,  ma'am,"  protested  the  general, 
uneasily. 

Mrs.  Webb  smiled. 

"  The  greatest  privilege  of  my  life,  ma'am !  " 
cried  the  general,  his  face  flushing  and  his  eyes 
growing  round  with  agitation. 

In  the  end  they  gained  their  point,  and  Mrs.  Webb 
consented,  but  with  a  reluctance  of  reserve  which 
caused  the  general  to  choke  with  embarrassment  and 
the  judge  to  become  speechless  from  perplexity. 
When  they  rose  to  leave  both  thanked  her  with  effu- 
sion and  both  bowed  themselves  out  as  gratefully  as 
if  it  were  a  royal  drawing-room  and  they  had  re- 
ceived the  honours  of  knighthood. 

"She  is  a  remarkable  woman!"  exclaimed  the 
general,  wiping  his  eyes  on  his  white  silk  handker- 
chief as  they  descended  the  steps.  "  A  most  unusual 
woman!  Why,  I  feel  positively  unworthy  to  sit  in 
her  presence.  Her  manner  brings  all  my  past  in- 
discretions to  mind.  It  is  an  honour  to  have  such 
a  character  in  the  community,  sir!  " 

The  judge  acquiesced  silently. 

The  interview  had  tried  his  Epicurean  fortitude, 
and  he  was  wondering  if  it  would  be  necessary  to 
repeat  the  call  before  Christmas. 

"  If  Julius  Webb  had  lived  she  would  have  made 
a  man  of  him,"  continued  the  general  enthusiast!- 


1 1 6  The  Voice  of  the  People 

cally,  the  purple  flush  slowly  fading  from  his  flabby 
face.  "  A  creature  who  could  live  with  that  woman 
and  not  be  made  a  man  of  wouldn't  be  human;  he'd 
be  a  hound.  There  is  dignity  in  every  inch  of  her, 
sir.  I  will  allow  no  man  to  question  my  respect  for 
our  immortal  Lee — but  if  Jane  Webb  had  been  the 
commander  of  our  armies,  we  should  be  standing 
now  upon  Confederate  soil " 

"  Or  upon  the  ashes  of  it,"  suggested  the  judge, 
adding  apologetically,  "  she  is  indeed  a  woman  in  a 
thousand." 

He  held  it  to  be  a  lack  of  courtesy  to  dissent  from 
praise  of  any  woman  whose  chastity  was  beyond  im- 
peachment, as  he  held  it  to  be  an  absence  of  pro- 
priety to  unite  in  admiration  of  one  who  was  wanting 
in  the  supremest  of  the  feminine  virtues.  His  code 
was  an  obvious  one,  and  he  had  never  seen  cause  to 
depart  from  it. 

"  I  hope  the  boy  will  be  worthy  of  her,"  he  said. 
"  It  is  a  good  name  that  he  bears." 

The  general  took  off  his  straw  hat  and  mopped 
his  brow. 

"  Worthy  of  her!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  He's  got  to 
be  worthy  of  her,  sir.  If  he  takes  any  notion  in  his 
head  not  to  be,  I'll  thrash  him  within  an  inch  of  his 
life.     Let  him  try  it,  the  young  scamp!  " 

The  judge  laughed  easily,  having  regained  his  self- 
possession.  "  Well,  well,  there's  no  telling,"  he  said ; 
"  but  he's  as  bright  as  a  steel  trap.  I  wish  Tom  had 
half  his  sense."  Then  he  turned  past  the  church  on 
his  way  home,  and  the  general,  declining  an  invita- 
tion to  dinner,  went  on  to  the  post-office,  where  he 
awaited  his  carriage. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  1 1 7 

,  From  this  time  Dudley  Webb  attended  classes  at 
the  judge's  house  and  became  the  popular  tyrant  of 
his  little  schoolroom.  He  was  a  dark,  high-bred 
looking  boy,  with  a  rich  voice  and  a  nature  that  was 
generous  in  small  things  and  selfish  in  large  ones. 
There  was  a  convincing  air  of  good-fellowship  about 
him,  which  won  the  honest  heart  of  slow-witted  Tom 
Bassett,  and  a  half-veiled  regard  for  his  own  youth- 
ful pleasures,  which  aroused  the  wrath  of  Eugenia. 

"  I  can't  abide  him,"  she  had  once  declared  pas- 
sionately to  Sally  Burwell.  "  Somehow,  he  always 
gets  the  best  of  everything." 

When,  after  the  first  few  years,  Nicholas  Burr 
entered  the  schoolroom  and  took  his  place  upon  one 
of  the  short  green  benches,  Mrs.  Webb  called  upon 
the  judge  in  person  and  demanded  an  explana- 
tion. 

"  My  boy  has  been  carefully  brought  up,"  she  said; 
"  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  he  will  not  submit  to  asso- 
ciation with  his  inferiors.  His  grandfather  would 
not  have  done  so  before  him." 

The  judge  quailed,  but  it  was  an  uncompromising 
quailing — a  surrender  of  the  flesh,  not  the  spirit. 

"  My  dear  lady,"  he  began  in  his  softest  voice, 
"  your  son  is  a  fine,  spirited  fellow,  but  he  is  a  boy, 
and  he  doesn't  care  a — a — pardon  me,  madam — a 
continental  whether  anybody  else  is  his  inferior  or 
not.  No  wholesome  boy  does.  He  doesn't  know 
the  meaning  of  the  word — nor  does  Tom — and  I 
shan't  be  the  one  to  teach  him.  Amos  Burr's  son 
is  a  clever,  hard-working  boy,  and  if  he  will  take  an 
education  from  me,  he  shall  have  it." 

The  judge  was  firm.     Mrs.  Webb  was  firm  also. 


1 1 8  The  Voice  of  the  People 

The  judge  assumed  his  legal  manner;  she  assumed 
her  hereditary  one. 

"  It  is  folly  to  educate  a  person  above  his  station," 
she  said. 

"  Men  make  their  stations,  madam,"  replied  the 
judge. 

He  sat  in  his  great  armchair  and  looked  at  her 
with  reverent  but  determined  eyes.  His  head  was 
slightly  bent,  in  deference  to  her  dissenting  voice, 
and  his  words  wavered,  but  his  will  did  not.  In  his 
attitude  his  respect  for  her  sexually  and  individually 
was  expressed,  but  he  had  argued  the  opposing 
interests  in  his  mind,  and  his  decision  was  judi- 
cial. 

"  I  am  deeply  pained,  my  dear  lady,"  he  said,  "  but 
I  cannot  turn  the  boy  away." 

Mrs.  Webb  did  not  reply.  She  gathered  up  her 
stiff  skirt  and  departed  with  folded  lips. 

After  she  had  gone  the  judge  paced  his  study  ner- 
vously for  a  half-hour,  giving  uncertain  glances  to- 
wards the  hall  door,  as  if  he  expected  the  advent  of 
an  incarnate  thunderbolt.  In  the  afternoon  he  sent 
over  a  bottle  of  his  best  Madeira  as  a  peace-offering. 
Mrs.  Webb  acknowledged  the  Madeira,  not  the 
truce.  The  following  day  General  Battle  called  upon 
the  judge  and  requested  in  half-hearted  tones  the 
withdrawal  of  Amos  Burr's  son.  He  looked  excited 
and  somewhat  alarmed,  and  the  judge  recognised 
the  hand  of  the  player. 

"  My  dear  Tom  Battle,"  he  said  soothingly,  "  you 
do  not  wish  the  poor  child  any  harm." 

"  'Fore  God,  I  don't,  George,"  stammered  the 
general. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  1 1 9 

"  He's  a  quiet,  unoffending  lad." 

The  general  fingered  his  limp  cravat  with  agitated 
plump  fingers.  "  I  never  passed  him  on  the  road 
in  my  life  that  he  didn't  touch  his  hat,"  he  admitted, 
"  and  once  he  took  a  stone  out  of  the  gray  mare's 
shoe." 

"  He  has  a  brain  and  he  has  ambition.  Think 
what  it  is  to  be  born  in  a  lower  class  and  to  have 
a  mind  above  it." 

The  general's  great  chest  trembled. 

"  I  wouldn't  injure  the  little  chap  for  the  world 
George;  on  my  soul,  I  wouldn't." 

"  I  know  it,  Tom." 

"  My  own  great-grandfather  Battle  raised  himself, 
George." 

The  judge  waved  the  fact  aside  as  insignificant. 

"  Of  course,  Mrs.  Webb  is  a  woman,"  he  said  with 
sexual  cynicism,  "  and  her  views  are  naturally  preju- 
diced. You  can't  expect  a  woman  to  look  at  things 
as  coolly  as  we  do,  Tom." 

The  general  brightened. 

"  'Tisn't  nature,"  he  declared.  "  You  can't  ex- 
pect a  woman  to  go  against  nature,  sir." 

"  And  Mrs.  Webb,  though  an  unusual  woman  (the 
general  nodded),  is  still  a  woman." 

The  general  nodded  again,  though  less  emphati- 
cally. 

"On  my  soul,  she's  wonderful!'  he  exclaimed. 
"  Why,  damme,  sir,  if  I  had  that  woman  to  brace  me 
up  I  shouldn't  need  a  julep." 

And  the  judge,  flinching  from  his  friend's  pro- 
fanity, called  Caesar  to  bring  in  the  decanters. 

Some  time  later  the  general  left  and  Mr.  Eurwell 


1 20  The  Voice  of  the  People 

appeared,  to  be  met  and  dispatched  by  the  same 
arguments. 

"  Naturally  my  instincts  prompt  me  to  side  with 
an  unprotected  widow,"  said  Mr.  Burwell. 

"No  Virginian  could  feel  otherwise,"  admitted  the 
judge  in  the  slightly  pompous  tone  in  which  he  al- 
luded to  his  native  State. 

"  But  as  I  said  to  my  wife,"  continued  Mr.  Burwell 
with  convincing  earnestness,  "  these  matters  had 
best  be  left  to  men.  There  is  no  need  for  our  wives 
and  daughters  to  be  troubled  by  them.  It  is  for  us, 
who  are  acquainted  with  the  world  and  who  have 
had  wide  experience,  to  settle  all  social  barriers." 

The  judge  agreed  as  before. 

"  I  am  glad  to  say  that  my  wife  takes  my  view  of 
it,"  the  other  went  on.  "  Indeed,  I  think  she  has 
expressed  what  I  have  said  to  Mrs.  Webb." 

"  Your  wife  is  an  honour  to  her  sex,"  said  the 
judge,  bowing. 

Then  Mr.  Burwell  left,  and  the  judge  spent  an- 
other half-hour  walking  up  and  down  his  study 
floor.  He  had  gained  the  victory,  but  he  would  have 
felt  pleasanter  had  it  been  defeat.  It  was  as  if  he 
had  taken  some  secret  advantage  of  a  woman — of  a 
widow. 

But  the  future  of  Amos  Burr's  son  was  sealed  so 
far  as  it  lay  in  the  judge's  power  to  settle  with  cir- 
cumstances, and  each  morning  during  the  school 
term  Mrs.  Webb  frowned  down  upon  his  hurrying 
figure  as  it  sped  along  the  street  and  turned  the 
corner  at  the  palace  green.  Sometimes,  when  snow 
was  falling,  he  would  shoot  by  like  an  arrow,  and 
Dudley  would  say  with  quick  compassion,  as  he 


The  Voice  of  the  People  1 2 1 

looked  up  from  his  steaming  cakes :  "  It's  because 
he  hasn't  any  overcoat,  mother.  He  runs  to  keep 
warm." 

But  Mrs.  Webb's  placid  eyes  would  not  darken. 

When  the  boys  grew  too  old  for  school  Tom  and 
Dudley  went  to  King's  College  for  a  couple  of  years, 
while  Nicholas  returned  to  the  farm.  The  judge 
still  befriended  him,  and  the  contents  of  Tom's  class 
books  found  their  way  into  his  head  sooner  or  later, 
with  more  information  than  Tom's  brain  could 
hold.  One  of  the  instructors  at  the  college — a  con- 
sumptive young  fellow,  whose  ambitions  had  leaned 
towards  the  bar — gave  the  boy  what  assistance  he 
needed,  and  when  the  work  of  the  class-room  and 
the  farm  was  over,  the  two  would  meet  in  the  dim 
old  library  of  the  college  and  plod  through  heavy, 
discoloured  pages,  while  the  portraits  of  painted  aris- 
tocrats glowered  down  upon  the  intrusive  plebeian. 

Despite  the  hard  labour  of  spring  ploughing  and 
the  cold  of  early  winter  dawns,  when  he  was  up  and 
out  of  doors,  the  years  passed  happily  enough.  He 
beheld  the  future  through  the  visions  of  an  imagina- 
tive mind,  and  it  seemed  big  with  promise.  Sitting 
in  the  quaint  old  library,  surrounded  by  faded  relics 
and  colourless  traditions,  he  felt  the  breath  of  hushed 
oratory  in  the  air,  and  political  passion  stirred  in  the 
surrounding  dust.  There  was  a  niche  in  a  small  al- 
cove, where  he  spent  the  spare  hours  of  many  a  day, 
the  words  of  great,  long-gone  Virginians  lying  be- 
fore him ;  behind  him,  through  the  small  square  win- 
dow, all  the  blue-green  sweep  of  the  college  grounds 
ending  where  the  Old  Stage  Road  led  on  to  his 
father's  farm. 


1 2  2  The  Voice  of  the  People 

He  plodded  ardently  and  earnestly,  the  consump- 
tive young  instructor  following  his  studies  with  the 
wistful  eyes  of  one  who  sees  another  striving  where 
he  has  striven  and  failed.  The  students  met  him 
with  tolerant  hilarity,  and  Tom  Bassett,  who  would 
have  kicked  the  Declaration  of  Independence  across 
the  campus  in  lieu  of  a  ball,  watched  him  with  secret 
mirth  and  open  championship.  There  had  sprung 
up  a  strong  friendship  between  the  two — one  of 
those  rare  affections  which  bend  but  do  not  break. 
Dudley  Webb,  the  most  brilliant  member  of  his  class 
and  the  light  of  his  mother's  eyes,  began  life,  as  he 
would  end  it,  with  the  ready  grasp  of  good-fellow- 
ship. He  had  long  since  outgrown  his  artificial, 
childish  distrust  of  Nicholas,  and  he  had  as  long  ago 
forgotten  that  he  had  ever  entertained  it.  As  for 
Nicholas  himself,  he  had  not  forgotten  it,  but  the 
memory  was  of  little  moment.  He  had  a  work  to 
do  in  life,  and  he  did  it  as  best  he  might.  If  it  were 
the  ploughing  of  rocky  soil,  so  much  the  worse ;  if 
the  uprooting  of  dead  men's  thoughts,  so  much  the 
better.     He  slighted  neither  the  one  nor  the  other. 

As  he  grew  older  he  became  tall  and  broad  of 
chest,  with  shoulders  which  suggested  the  athlete 
rather  than  the  student.  His  hair  had  darkened  to 
a  less  flaming  red,  his  eyes  had  grown  brighter,  and 
the  freckles  had  faded  into  a  general  gray  tone  of 
complexion. 

"  He  will  be  the  ugliest  man  in  the  State,"  said 
Mr.  Burwell,  inflating  his  pink  cheeks,  with  a  return 
of  youthful  vanity,  "  but  it  is  the  ugliness  that 
attracts." 

Nicholas  had  not  heard,  but,  had  he  done  so,  the 


The  Voice  of  the  People  123 

words  would  have  left  a  sting.  He  possessed  an 
inherent  regard  for  physical  perfection,  rendered  the 
greater  by  his  own  tormented  childhood.  He  was 
strong  and  vigorous  and  of  well-knit  sinews,  but  he 
would  have  given  his  muscle  for  Dudley  Webb's 
hands  and  his  brains  for  the  other's  hair. 

Once,  as  a  half-grown  boy,  in  a  fit  of  jealousy  in- 
spired by  Dudley's  good  looks,  he  had  called  him 
"  Miss  Nancy,"  and  knocked  him  down.  When  his 
enemy  had  lain  at  his  feet  on  the  green  he  had 
raised  him  up  and  made  amends  by  standing  mo- 
tionless while  Dudley  lashed  him  with  a  small  riding- 
whip.  The  jealousy  had  vanished  since  then,  but 
the  smart  was  still  there. 

At  last  the  college  days  were  over.  Dudley  was 
sent  to  the  university  of  the  State;  Tom  Bassett  and 
Bernard  Battle  soon  followed,  and  Nicholas,  still 
plodding  and  still  hopeful,  was  left  in  Kingsborough. 

Then,  upon  his  nineteenth  birthday,  the  judge, 
who  had  left  the  bench  and  resumed  his  legal  prac- 
tice, sent  for  him  and  offered  to  take  him  into  his 
office  while  he  prepared  himself  for  the  bar. 


II 

When  Nicholas  descended  the  judge's  steps  he 
lingered  for  a  moment  in  the  narrow  walk.  His 
head  was  bent,  and  the  books  which  he  carried  under 
his  arm  were  pressed  against  his  side.  They  seemed 
to  contain  all  that  was  needed  for  the  making  of  his 
future — those  books  and  his  impatient  mind.  His 
success  was  as  assured  as  if  he  held  it  already  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand — and  with  success  would  come 
honour  and  happiness  and  all  that  was  desired  of 
man.  It  seemed  to  him  that  his  lot  was  the  one 
of  all  others  which  he  would  have  chosen  of  his  free 
and  untrammelled  will.  To  strive  and  to  win ;  to 
surmount  all  obstacles  by  the  determined  dash  of 
ambition ;  to  rise  from  obscurity  unto  prominence 
through  the  sheer  forces  that  make  for  power — what 
vyas  better  than  this  ? 

Still  plunged  in  thought,  he  passed  the  church 
and  followed  the  street  to  the  Old  Stage  Road. 
FYom  the  college  dormitories  a  group  of  students 
sang  out  a  greeting,  and  he  responded  impulsively, 
tossing  his  hat  in  the  air.  In  his  face  a  glow  had 
risen,  harmonising  his  inharmonious  features.  He 
felt  as  a  man  feels  who  stands  before  a  closed  door 
and  knows  that  he  has  but  to  cross  the  threshold  to 
grasp  the  fulness  of  his  aspiration.  Yes,  to-day  he 
envied  no  one — neither  Tom  Bassett  nor  Dudley 
Webb,  neither  the  general  nor  the  judge.     He  held 


The  Voice  of  the  People  1 2  5 

the  books  tightly  under  his  arm  and  smiled  down 
upon  the  road.  His  clumsy,  store-made  boots  left 
heav}r  tracks  in  the  dust,  but  he  seemed  to  be  tread- 
ing air. 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  a  murky 
day  in  early  November,  and  the  clouds  were  swollen 
with  incoming  autumnal  rains.  The  open  country 
stretched  before  him  in  monotonous  grays,  the  long 
road  gleaming  pallid  in  the  general  drab  of  the  land- 
scape. As  he  passed  along,  holding  his  hat  in  his 
hand,  his  uplifted  head  struck  the  single,  high- 
coloured  note  in  the  picture — all  else  was  dull  and 
leaden. 

A  farmer  driving  a  cow  to  market  neared  him, 
and  Nicholas  stopped  to  remark  upon  the  outlook. 
The  farmer,  a  thickset,  hairy  man,  whose  name  was 
Turner,  gave  a  sudden  hitch  to  the  halter  to  check 
the  progress  of  the  cow,  and  nodded  ominously. 

"  Bad  weather's  brewin',"  he  said.  "  The  wind's 
blowin'  from  the  northeast ;  I  can  tell  by  the  way  that 
thar  oak  turns  its  leaves.  It's  a  bad  sign,  and  if 
thar  ain't  a-shiftin'  'fore  mornin',  we're  likely  to 
hev  a  spell." 

Nicholas  agreed. 

"  There  hasn't  been  much  rainfall  lately,"  he 
added.  "  I  reckon  it  has  come  at  last  and  for  a 
long  stretch."  His  eyes  swept  the  western  horizon, 
where  the  clouds  hung  heavily  above  the  pines. 

"  Yo'  pa  got  his  crops  in  ?  " 

"  Pretty  much.  The  peanuts  were  harvested  after 
the  last  frost." 

"  He  ain't  had  much  luck  this  year,  I  hear." 

Nicholas  shook  his  head. 


126  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  No  less  than  usual.  Last  year  he  lost  the 
brindle  cow  that  was  calving.  This  season  the  mare 
died." 

"  Well,  well !  He  never  was  much  for  luck,  no- 
how. Seems  like  he  worked  too  hard  to  have  Provi- 
dence on  his  side.  I  allers  said  that  Providence  had 
ruther  you'd  leave  a  share  of  the  business  to  Him. 
Got  through  school  yet  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I'm  reading  law." 

"  Reading  what  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  study  law  in  the  judge's  office — 
Judge  Bassett,  you  know." 

"  So  you  can  keep  a  tongue  in  yo'  head  when  those 
plagued  cusses  come  'bout  the  mortgage  ?  " 

"  So  I  can  take  cases  to  court  and  earn  a  living." 

"  Why  don't  you  stick  to  the  land  and  make  yo' 
bread  honest?  " 

"  The  law's  honest." 

Turner  shook  his  hairy  head. 

"  It  cheated  me  out  o'  twelve  bushels  of  'taters 
las'  year,"  he  said.  "  Don't  tell  me  'bout  yo'  law. 
I  know  it." 

Nicholas  laughed. 

"  Come  to  me  when  I've  set  up,  if  you  get  in 
trouble,"  he  rejoined,  "  and  I'll  get  you  out." 

The  cow  gave  a  lunge  at  the  ropes,  and  the 
farmer  went  on  his  way.  When  the  man  and  cow 
had  passed  from  sight  Nicholas  stopped  and  laughed 
again.  He  wondered  if  he  could  be  really  of  one 
flesh  and  blood  with  these  people — of  one  stuff  and 
fibre.  What  had  he  in  common  with  his  own 
father — hard-working,  heavy-handed  Amos  Burr? 
No,  he  was  not  of  them  and  he  had  never  been. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  1 2  7 

He  had  turned  from  the  main  road  into  the  wood, 
when  a  girl  on  horseback  dashed  suddenly  towards 
him  from  the  gray  perspective.  She  was  riding 
rapidly,  her  short  skirts  flying,  her  hair  blown  darkly 
across  her  face.  A  brown-and-white  pointer  ran  at 
her  side. 

As  she  caught  sight  of  Nicholas  she  half  rose  in 
her  saddle,  giving  a  loud,  clear  call. 

"  Hello,  Nick  Burr !     Hello !  " 

Nicholas  stood  aside  and  waited  for  her  to  come 
up,  which  she  did  in  a  moment,  panting  from  her 
exercise,  her  face  flushing  into  a  glowing  heat. 

"  I  was  looking  for  you,"  she  said,  waving  a  small 
willow  spray  in  her  brown  hand.  "  I  went  by  the 
farm,  but  you  weren't  there.  So,  you  are  nineteen 
to-day !  "  Her  eyes  shone  as  she  looked  at  him. 
There  was  a  singular  brilliance  of  expression  in  her 
face,  due  partly  to  the  exercise,  partly  to  the  restless 
animation  of  her  features.  She  was  at  the  unbe- 
coming age  when  the  child  is  merging  into  the 
woman,  but  her  lack  of  grace  was  redeemed  by  her 
warmth  of  personality. 

Nicholas  laid  his  hand  upon  the  bridle. 

"  Why,  Genia,  if  I'd  known  you  wanted  me  I'd 
have  been  hanging  round  somewhere.    What  is  it?  " 

"  Let  me  look  at  you." 

Nicholas  flushed,  turning  his  face  away  from  her. 

"  God  knows,  I'm  ugly  enough,"  he  said. 

She  leaned  nearer,  shaking  back  her  straight, 
black  hair,  which  fell  from  beneath  the  small  cap. 

"  I  want  to  see  if  you  have  changed  since  yester- 
day." 

He  turned  towards  her. 


128  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  Have  I  ?  "  he  asked  hopefully. 

She  regarded  him  gravely,  though  a  smile  played 
over  her  changeful  lips. 

"  Not  a  bit.     Not  a  freckle." 

"  Hang  it  all !     I  lost  my  freckles  long  ago." 

"  Then  they've  come  back.  There  are  one — two 
— three  on  your  nose." 

"  Hold  on !     Let  my  looks  alone,  please." 

Eugenia  whistled  softly,  half  grave,  half  gay. 

"  Down,  darling !  "  she  said  to  the  pointer,  and 
"  be  still,  beauty !  "  to  the  horse.  Then  she  turned 
to  Nicholas  again. 

"  I've  really  and  truly  got  something  to  tell  you, 
Nick  Burr." 

"  Out  with  it,  then.     Don't  worry." 

She  swung  her  long  legs  idly  from  the  saddle. 
"  Suppose  I  don't." 

"  Then  don't." 

"  Suppose  I  do." 

"  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  care !  " 

"  Oh,  you  do,  you  story.  You're  just  dying  to 
know — but  it's  serious." 

She  patted  the  horse's  neck,  watching  Nicholas 
with  child-like  eagerness. 

"Well,  I'm — I'm — there!  I  told  you  you  were 
dying  to  know  !  " 

"  I'm  not." 

"  Guess,  anyway." 

"  Somebody  coming  on  a  visit?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Try  again,  stupid." 

"  Miss  Chris  going  to  be  married  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Lord,  no.     You  aren't  really  a  fool,  Nick." 


The  Voice  of  the  People  129 

"Betsey  got  a  baby?" 

"  Why,  Tecumsey  only  came  last  June !  " 

"  Then  I  give  it  up.     Tell  me." 

"  Say  please." 

"  Please,  Genia !  " 

"  Say  '  please,  dear,  good  Genia.'  " 

"  Please,  dear,  darling  Genia." 

"  I  didn't  say  '  darling.'     I  said  '  good.'  " 

"  It's  the  same  thing." 

She  smiled  at  him  with  boyish  eyes. 

"  Am  I  really  a  darling?  " 

"  Do  you  really  know  something?  " 

"  You  bet  I  do." 

"What  is  it?" 

She  laughed  teasingly. 

"  It'll  make  you  cry." 

"  Hurry  up,  Genia !  " 

"  You'll  certainly  cry  very  loud." 

"  I'll  shake  you  in  a  moment." 

"  It  isn't  polite  to  shake  ladies." 

"  You  aren't  a  lady.     You're  a  vixen." 

"  Aunt  Verbeny  says  I'm  a  limb  of  Satan.  But 
will  you  promise  not  to  weep  a  flood  of  tears,  so  I 
can't  cross  home?  " 

She  leaned  still  nearer,  resting  her  hand  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"  I'm  going  away." 

"What?" 

"  I'm  going  away  to-morrow  at  daybreak.  I'm 
going  to  school.  I  shan't  come  back  for  a  whole 
year.  I'm — I'm  going  to  leave  papa  and  Aunt 
Chris  and  Jim  and  you." 

She  began  to  sob. 
9 


130  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  Don't,"  said  Nicholas  sharply. 

"  And — and  you  don't  care  a  bit.  You're  just  a 
stone.     Oh,  I  don't  want  to  go  to  school !  " 

"  I'm  not  a  stone.     I  do  care." 

"  No,  you  don't.  And  I  may  die  and  never  come 
back  any  more,  and  you'll  forget  all  about  me." 

"  I  shan't.  Don't,  I  say.  Do  you  hear  me,  Genia, 
don't." 

She  looked  for  a  handkerchief,  and,  failing  to  find 
one,  wiped  her  eyes  on  the  horse's  mane. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  when  I  am  gone  ?  " 

"  Work  hard  so  you'll  be  proud  of  me  when  you 
come  back." 

"  I  shall  be  sixteen  in  two  years." 

"  And  I,  twenty-one." 

"  You'll  be  a  man — quite." 

"  You'll  be  a  woman — almost." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  like  you  so  much  then." 

"  I  shall  like  you  more." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked  quickly. 

"Why?  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Am  I  so  awfully 
ugly,  Genia  ?  " 

"  Turn  this  way." 

He  obeyed  her,  flushing  beneath  her  scrutiny. 

"  I  shouldn't  call  you — awful,"  she  replied  at 
last. 

"  Am  I  so  ugly,  then  ?  " 

"Honour  bright?" 

"  Of  course,"  impatiently. 

"  Then  you  are — yes — rather." 

He  shook  his  head  angrily. 

"  I  didn't  think  you'd  be  mean  enough  to  tell  me 
so,"  he  returned. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  131 

"  But  you  asked  me." 

"  I  don't  care  if  I  did.  You  might  have  said 
something  pleasant." 

Her  sensitive  mouth  drooped.  "  I  never  think  of 
your  being  ugly  when  I'm  with  you,"  she  said.  "  It's 
a  good,  strong  kind  of  ugliness,  anyway.  I  don't 
mind  it." 

He  smiled  again. 

"  Looks  don't  matter,  anyway,"  she  went  on 
soothingly.  "  I'd  rather  a  man  would  be  clever  than 
handsome;  "  then  she  added  conscientiously,  "  only 
I'd  rather  be  handsome  myself." 

He  looked  at  her  closely. 

"  I  reckon  you  will  be,"  he  said.  "  Most  women 
are.     It's  the  clothes,  I  suppose." 

Eugenia  looked  down  at  him  for  an  instant  in 
silence ;  then  she  held  out  her  hands. 

"  I  am  going  at  daybreak,"  she  said.  "  Will  you 
come  down  to  the  road  and  tell  me  good-bye  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course." 

"  But  we  must  say  good-bye  now,  too.  Did  we 
ever  shake  hands  before  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then,  good-bye.     I  must  go." 

"  Good-bye,  dear — darling." 

She  touched  her  horse  lightly  with  the  willow, 
but  promptly  drew  rein,  regarding  Nicholas  with 
her  boyish  eyes. 

"  Do  you  think  it  would  make  it  any  easier  if  we 
kissed?  "  she  asked. 

"  Geriminy !     I  should  say  so  !  " 

He  caught  her  hands ;  she  leaned  over  and  he 
kissed  her  lips.     She  drew  back  with  the  same  frank 


132  The  Voice  of  the  People 

laugh,  but  a  flush  burned  his  face  and  his  eyes  were 
sparkling. 

"  More,  Genia,"  he  said,  but  she  laughed  and  let 
the  bridle  fall. 

"  No — no — but  it  made  me  feel  better.  There, 
good-bye,  dear,  dear  Nick  Burr,  good-bye !  " 

Then  she  dashed  past  him,  and  a  whirl  of  dust 
filled  the  solitary  air. 

He  looked  after  her  until  she  turned  her  horse  into 
the  Old  Stage  Road,  and  the  clatter  of  the  hoofs  was 
gone.  When  the  stillness  had  fallen  again  he  went 
slowly  on  his  way. 

In  the  woods  the  pale  bodies  of  the  beeches 
seemed  to  melt  into  the  cloudy  atmosphere.  There 
was  no  wind  among  the  trees,  and  the  pervading 
dampness  had  robbed  the  yellowed  leaves  of  their 
silken  rustle.  They  fluttered  softly,  hanging  limp 
from  the  drooping  branches  as  if  attached  by  in- 
visible threads.  As  he  went  on  a  deep  bluish 
smoke  issued  from  among  some  far-off  poplars 
where  a  farmer  was  burning  brush  in  a  clearing. 
The  smoke  hung  low  above  the  undergrowth,  as- 
suming eccentric  outlines  and  varied  tones  of  dusk. 
Presently  the  fires  glimmered  nearer,  and  he  saw  the 
red  tongues  of  the  flames  and  heard  the  parched 
crackling  of  consuming  leaves.  The  figures  of  the 
workers  were  limned  grotesquely  against  the  ruddy 
background  with  a  startling  and  unreal  absence  of 
detail.  They  looked  like  incarnate  shadows — stalk- 
ing between  the  dim  beeches  and  the  blazing  brush 
heaps.  A  few  drops  of  rain  fell  suddenly,  and  the 
fires  began  slowly  to  die  away.  At  the  foot  of  the 
crumbling  "  worm  "  fence,  skirting  the  edges  of  the 


The  Voice  of  the  People  133 

wood,  deep  wind-drifts  of  russet  leaves  stirred 
mournfully.  Later  they  would  be  hauled  away  to 
assist  in  the  winter  dressing  of  the  fallows ;  now 
they  beat  helplessly  against  the  retarding  rails  like 
a  vanquished  army  of  invasion. 

Nicholas  left  the  wood  and  passed  the  field  of 
broomsedge  on  his  way  to  the  house.  Beyond  the 
barnyard  he  saw  the  long  rows  of  pine  staves  that 
had  supported  the  shocks  of  peanuts,  and  from  the 
direction  of  the  field  he  caught  sight  of  his  father, 
driven  homeward  by  the  threatening  rain. 

Sairy  Jane,  who  was  bringing  a  string  of  dried 
snaps  from  the  outhouse,  called  to  him  to  hurry  be- 
fore the  cloudburst.  She  was  a  lank,  colourless  girl, 
with  bad  teeth  and  small  pale  eyes.  Jubal,  at  the 
churn  in  the  hall,  rested  from  his  labours  as  Nicho- 
las entered,  and  grinned  as  he  pointed  to  his  mother 
in  the  kitchen.  Marthy  Burr  was  ironing.  As 
Nicholas  crossed  the  threshold,  she  stopped  in  her 
passage  from  the  stove  and  looked  at  him,  a  flash 
of  pride  softening  her  pain-scarred  features. 

"  Lord,  what  a  man  you  are,  Nick !  "  she  ex- 
claimed with  a  kind  of  triumph.  "  When  I  heard 
yo'  step  on  the  po'ch  I  could  have  swo'ed  it  was 
yo'  pa's." 

Nicholas  nodded  at  her  abstractedly  as  he  took  off 
his  hat. 

"  Where's  pa?  "  he  asked  carelessly.  "  I  thought 
he'd  have  got  in  before  me.  I  saw  him  as  I  came  up." 

"  I  reckon  he  won't  git  in  befo'  he  gits  a  drench- 
in',"  responded  his  stepmother,  glancing  indiffer- 
ently through  the  back  window.  "  If  he  does  it'll 
be  the  first  time  sence  he  war  born.     'Twarn't  noth- 


j  34  The  Voice  of  the  People 

in'  to  be  done  in  the  fields,  nohow,  an'  so  I  told  him, 
but  he  ain't  never  rested  yet,  an'  I  don't  reckon  he's 
goin'  to  till  I  bury  him." 

As  she  spoke  the  rain  fell  heavily,  and  presently 
Amos  Burr  came  in,  shaking  the  water  from  his 
head  and  shoulders. 

"  I  told  you  'twarn't  no  use  yo'  goin'  to  the  fields 
befo'  the  rain,"  began  his  wife  admonishingly.  "  But 
you're  a  man  all  over,  an'  it  seems  like  you're  'bliged 
to  go  yo'  own  way  for  the  sheer  pleasure  of  goin' 
agin  somebody  else's.  If  I'd  been  pesterin'  you  all 
day  long  to  go  down  thar  to  look  at  that  ploughin', 
you'd  be  settin'  in  yo'  chair  now,  plum  dry." 

Amos  Burr  crossed  to  the  stove  and  turned  his 
dripping  back  to  the  heat. 

"  Gimme  a  rubbin'  down,  Sairy  Jane,"  he  pleaded, 
and  his  daughter  took  a  dry  cloth  and  began  mop- 
ping off  the  water. 

Marthy  Burr  placed  an  iron  on  the  stove  and  took 
one  off. 

"  Whar'd  you  git  dinner,  Nick  ?  "  she  inquired 
suddenly. 

"  At  the  judge's." 

"  What  did  they  have  ?  "  demanded  Jubal  from  the 
hall,  ceasing  the  clatter  of  the  churn.  "  Golly ! 
Wouldn't  I  like  a  bite  of  something !  " 

"  I  shouldn't  mind  some  strange  cookin',  myself," 
said  Marthy  Burr,  shaking  her  head  at  one  of  the 
children  who  had  come  into  the  kitchen  with  muddy 
feet.  "  I  ain't  tasted  anybody  else's  vittles  for  ten 
years,  an'  sometimes  I  feel  my  mouth  waterin'  for 
a  change  of  hand  in  the  dough." 

She  took  one  of  her  husband's  shirts  from  the 


The  Voice  of  the  People  135 

pile  of  freshly  dried  clothes,  spread  it  on  the  ironing- 
board,  and  sprinkled  it  with  water.  Then  she  mois- 
tened her  finger  and  applied  it  to  the  iron. 

Amos  Burr  looked  up  from  before  the  stove,  where 
he  still  sat  drying. 

"  You're  a  man  now,  Nick,"  he  said  slowly,  as  if 
the  words  had  been  revolving  in  his  brain  for  some 
time  and  he  had  just  received  the  power  of  speech. 

"  Yes,  pa." 

"  Whatever  he  is,  he  don't  git  it  from  his  pa,"  put 
in  Marthy  Burr  as  she  bent  over  the  shirt.  "  He 
ain't  got  nothin'  of  yo'rn  onless  it's  yo'  hair,  an' 
that's  done  sobered  down  till  you  wouldn't  know  it." 

Amos  waited  patiently  until  she  had  finished,  and 
then  went  on  heavily  as  if  the  pause  had  been  in- 
tentional, not  enforced. 

"  You've  got  as  much  schoolin'  as  most  city 
chaps,"  he  said.  "  Much  good  it'll  do  you,  I  reckon. 
I  never  saw  nothin'  come  of  larnin'  yet,  'cep'n  worth- 
lessness.  But  you'd  set  yo'  mind  on  it,  an'  you've 
got  it." 

"  Thar  warn't  none  of  yo'  hand  in  that,  Amos 
Burr,"  cried  his  wife,  checking  him  again  before 
he  had  recovered  breath  from  his  last  sentence. 
"  Many's  the  night  I've  wrastled  with  you  till  you 
war  clean  wore  out  with  sleeplessness,  'fo'  you'd  let 
the  child  keep  on  at  his  books." 

"  I  ain't  never  seen  no  good  come  of  it,"  repeated 
Burr  stolidly ;  then  he  returned  to  Nicholas. 

"  I  reckon  you'll  want  to  do  somethin'  for  the 
family,  now,"  he  said,  "  seein'  yo'  ma  is  well  wore 
out  an'  the  brindle  cow  died  calvin',  an'  Sairy  Jane 
is  a  hard  worker." 


136  The  Voice  of  the  People 

Nicholas  looked  at  him  without  speaking. 

"  Yes  ?  "  he  said  inquiringly,  and  his  voice  was 
dull. 

"  I  was  talkin'  to  Jerry  Pollard,"  continued  his 
father,  letting  his  slow  eyes  rest  upon  his  son's,  "  an' 
he  said  you  war  as  likely  a  chap  as  thar  was  roun' 
here,  and  he  reckoned  you'd  be  pretty  quick  in 
business." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Nicholas  again  in  the  same  tone. 

Amos  Burr  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  his  wife 
filled  in  the  pause  with  a  series  of  running  inter- 
jections. When  they  were  over  her  husband  took 
up  his  words. 

"  He  wants  a  young  fellow  about  his  store,  he 
says,  as  can  look  arter  the  books  an'  the  business. 
He's  gittin'  too  old  to  keep  up  with  the  city  ways 
an'  look  peart  at  the  ladies — he'll  pay  a  nice  little 
sum  in  cash  every  week." 

"  Yes  ?  "  repeated  Nicholas,  still  interrogatively. 

"  An'  he  wants  to  know  if  you'll  take  the  place — 
you're  jest  the  sort  of  chap  he  wants,  he  says — 
somebody  as  will  be  bright  at  praisin'  up  the  calicky 
to  the  gals  when  they  come  shoppin'.  Thar's 
nothin'  like  a  young  man  behind  the  counter  to  draw 
the  gals,  he  says." 

Nicholas  shook  his  head  impatiently,  clasping  the 
books  tightly  beneath  his  arm.  His  gaze  had  grown 
harsh  and  repellent. 

"  But  I  am  going  into  the  judge's  office,"  he  an- 
swered. "  I  am  going "  Then  he  checked  him- 
self, baffled  by  the  massive  ignorance  he  confronted. 

Amos  Burr  drew  one  shoulder  from  the  fire  and 
offered  the  other.       A  slow  steam  rose  from  his 


The  Voice  of  the  People        ,   137 

smoking  shirt,  and  the  room  was  rilled  with  the 
odour  of  scorching  cotton. 

"  Thar  ain't  much  cash  in  that,  I  reckon,"  he  said. 

Nicholas  took  a  step  forward,  still  facing  his 
father  with  obstinate  eyes.  One  of  the  books 
slipped  from  his  arm  and  fell  to  the  floor,  with 
open  leaves,  but  he  let  it  lie.  He  was  watching  his 
father's  jaws  as  they  rose  and  fell  over  the  quid  of 
tobacco. 

"  No,  there  is  not  much  cash  in  that,"  he  repeated. 

"  Things  have  gone  mighty  hard,"  said  Amos 
Burr.  "  It's  been  a  bad  year.  I  ain't  sayin'  noth- 
in'  'bout  the  work  yo'  ma  an'  Sairy  Jane  an'  me. 
have  done.  That  don't  seem  to  count,  somehow. 
But  nothin'  ain't  come  straight,  an'  thar  ain't  a  cent 
to  pay  the  taxes.  If  we  can't  manage  to  tide  over 
this  comin'  winter  thar'll  have  to  be  a  mortgage  in 
the  spring." 

Sairy  Jane  began  to  cry  softly.  One  of  the  chil- 
dren joined  in. 

"  Give  me  time,"  said  Nicholas  breathlessly. 
"  Give  me  time.  I'll  pay  it  all  in  time."  Then  the 
sound  of  Sairy  Jane's  sobs  maddened  him  and  he 
turned  upon  her  with  an  oath.  "  Damn  you !  Can't 
you  be  quiet?  " 

It  seemed  to  him  that  they  were  all  closing  upon 
him  and  that  there  was  no  opening  of  escape. 

Marthy  Burr  put  down  her  iron  and  came  to 
where  he  stood,  laying  her  hand  upon  his  sleeve. 

"  Don't  mind  'em,  Nick,"  she  said,  and  her  sharp 
voice  broke  suddenly.  "  Go  ahead  an'  make  a  man 
of  yo'self,  mortgage  or  no  mortgage." 

Nicholas  lifted  his  gaze  from  the  floor  and  looked 


138  The  Voice  of  the  People 

into  his  stepmother's  face.  Then  he  looked  at  her 
hand  as  it  lay  upon  his  arm.  That  trembling  hand 
brought  to  him  more  fully  than  words,  more  clearly 
than  visions,  the  pathos  of  her  life. 

"  Don't  you  worry,  ma,"  he  said  quietly  at  last. 
"  It'll  be  all  right.     Don't  you  worry." 

Then  he  let  her  hand  slip  from  his  shoulder  and 
left  the  room. 

He  passed  out  upon  the  back  porch  and  stood 
gazing  vacantly  across  the  outlook. 

It  rained  heavily,  the  drops  descending  in  hori- 
zontal lengths  like  a  fantastic  fall  of  colourless  pine 
needles.  Overhead  the  clouds  were  black,  impene- 
trable. 

Through  the  falling  rain  he  looked  at  the  view 
before  him,  at  the  overgrown  yard,  at  the  manure 
heaps  near  the  stable,  at  the  grim  rows  of  staves  in 
the  peanut  field,  at  the  sombre  and  deserted  land- 
scape. A  raw  wind  blew  in  gusts  from  the  north- 
east, and  the  distorted  ailanthus  tree  in  the  yard 
moaned  and  wrung  its  twisted  limbs.  Sharp,  un- 
pleasant odours  came  from  the  pig-pen  in  the  barn- 
yard, where  the  rain  was  scattering  the  slops  in  the 
trough.  A  bull  bellowed  in  a  far-off  pasture.  Be- 
fore the  hen-house  door  several  dripping  fowls 
strutted  with  wilted  feathers. 

He  saw  it  all  in  silence,  with  the  dogged  eyes  of 
one  whose  gaze  is  turned  inward.  He  made  no 
gesture,  uttered  no  exclamation.  He  was  as  motion- 
less as  the  lintel  of  the  door  on  which  he  leaned. 

Suddenly  a  gust  of  wind  whipped  the  rain  into 
his  face.  He  turned,  reentered  the  house,  closed 
the  door  carefully,  and  went  upstairs. 


Ill 

The  next  morning  Nicholas  went  into  the  judge's 
study  and  declined  the  offer  of  the  day  before. 

"  I  shan't  read  law,  after  all,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  There  is  a  business  opening  for  me  here,  and  I'll 
take  advantage  of  it."  He  spoke  in  set  phrases,  as 
if  he  had  rehearsed  the  sentences  many  times. 

"Business!"  echoed  the  judge  incredulously. 
"  Why,  what  business  is  going  on  in  Kings- 
borough?  " 

Nicholas  flushed  a  deep  red,  but  his  glance  did 
not  waver. 

"  Jerry  Pollard  wants  me  in  his  store,  sir." 

The  judge  removed  his  glasses,  wiped  them  de- 
liberately on  his  silk  handkerchief,  put  them  on 
again,  and  regarded  the  younger  man  attentively. 

"  And  you  wish  to  go  into  Jerry  Pollard's  store?  " 
he  inquired. 

"  I  think  it  is  the  best  thing  I  can  do." 

"  The  best  paying  thing,  I  presume?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Bless  my  soul!"  exclaimed  the  judge  testily. 
"What  is  the  world  coming  to?  I  suppose  Tom  will 
be  writing  me  next  that  he  intends  to  keep  a  stall  in 
market.  Well,  you  know  best,  of  course.  You  may 
do  as  you  please;  but  may  I  ask  if  you  are  going  to 


140  The  Voice  of  the  People 

bargain  in  Latin  and  multiply  by  criminal  law  in 
Jerry  Pollard's  store?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  Then,  what  in  the — what  in  the — I  really  feel  the 
need  of  a  strong  expression — what  in  the  world  did 
you  take  the  trouble  to  educate  yourself  for?  " 

Nicholas  was  looking  at  the  floor,  and  he  did  not 
raise  his  eyes.     His  face  was  hard  and  set. 

"  Because  I  was  a  fool,"  he  answered  shortly. 

"  And  now,  if  I  may  ask?  " 

"  A  fool  still— but  I've  found  it  out." 

The  judge  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  tapped  the 
ledge  of  his  desk  meditatively. 

"  Have  you  fully  decided?  "  he  asked. 

Nicholas  nodded. 

"  I  have  thought  it  over,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  Then  there's  nothing  to  be  done,  I  suppose.  I 
hope  the  compensation  will  satisfy  you.  ■  Jerry  Pol- 
lard is  said  to  be  somewhat  tight-fisted,  but  your 
business  instincts  may  be  equal  to  his  acquirements. 
Now,  I  have  a  number  of  letters,  so,  if  you  don't 
mind,  I  will  bid  you  good-day." 

He  bowed,  and  Nicholas  left  the  study  and  went 
out  of  the  house. 

Rain  was  still  falling,  and  small  pools  of  water  had 
formed  on  the  palace  green.  Straight  ahead  the 
lane  of  maples  stretched  like  a  line  of  half-extin- 
guished fires,  and  the  ground  beneath  was  strewn 
with  wet,  red  leaves.  The  slanting  sheets  of  rain 
gave  a  sombre  aspect  to  the  town — to  the  time- 
beaten  buildings  along  the  unpaved  streets  and  to 
the  commons,  where  the  water  stood  in  grassy  hol- 
lows.    Beneath  the  gray  sky  the  scene  assumed  a 


The  Voice  of  the  People  141 

spectre-like  suggestion  of  death  and  decay — the 
death  of  laughter  that  seemed  still  to  echo  faintly 
from  the  vanished  stones — the  decay  of  royal  char- 
ters and  of  kingly  grants.  The  very  air  was  remi- 
niscent of  a  yesterday  that  was  perished ;  the 
red,  wet  leaves  painted  the  brown  earth  in  historic 
colours. 

Nicholas  turned  the  corner  at  the  church  and 
passed  on  to  Jerry  Pollard's  store — a  long,  low 
structure  fronting  on  the  main  street — and  entered 
by  a  single  step  from  the  sidewalk.  The  show  win- 
dows on  either  side  the  entrance  displayed  a  motley 
selection  from  the  varied  assortment  of  a  "  general  " 
store — cheap  silks  and  high-coloured  calicos,  men's 
shirts  and  women's  shoes,  cravats  and  hairpins,  sus- 
penders and  corsets.  On  the  sidewalk  near  the  door- 
way there  was  a  baby  carriage,  a  saddle,  and  a  col- 
lection of  farming  implements.  As  Nicholas  crossed 
the  threshold  a  pink-cheeked  girl  passed  him,  her 
arms  filled  with  bundles,  and  at  the  counter  an  old 
negro  woman  was  pricing  red  flannel. 

Jerry  Pollard,  a  coarse-featured,  full-bearded  man 
of  sixty  years,  was  behind  the  counter.  Nicholas 
caught  his  persuasive  tones  as  he  leaned  over,  hold- 
ing the  end  of  the  bolt  of  flannel  in  his  hands. 

"  Now,  look  here,  Aunty,  you  ain't  going  to  find 
such  a  bargain  as  this  anywhere  else  in  town.  Take 
my  oath  on  that.  Every  thread  wool  and  forty-four 
inches  wide.  Only  thirty  cents  a  yard,  too.  I  got 
it  at  an  auction  in  Richmond,  or  I  couldn't  let  it  go 
at  double  that  price.     How  much?     Ail  right." 

The  flannel  was  measured  off  with  skilful  manipu- 
lations of  the  yardstick  and  the  scissors,  the  parcel 


142  The  Voice  of  the  People 

was  handed  to  the  old  negro  woman,  and  the  change 
was  dropped  into  the  till.  Then  Jerry  Pollard  came 
from  behind  the  counter  and  slapped  Nicholas  upon 
the  shoulder. 

"Hello,  my  boy!"  he  said.  "So  your  pa  has 
taken  me  at  my  word,  and  here  you  are.  Well,  Jerry 
Pollard's  word's  his  bond,  and  he  ain't  going  back 
on  it.  So,  when  you  feel  like  it,  you  can  step  right 
in  and  get  to  business.  When'll  you  begin?  To- 
day?    No  time  like  the  present  time's,  my  motto." 

"  To-morrow!  "  returned  Nicholas  hastily.  "  I've 
got  some  things  to  wind  up.  I'll  come  to-mor- 
row." 

"  All  right.  I'm  your  man.  To-morrow  at  seven 
sharp?  " 

Then  a  purchaser  appeared,  and  Jerry  Pollard 
went  forward,  his  business  smile  returning  to  his 
face. 

The  purchaser  was  Mrs.  Burwell,  and,  as  Nicholas 
passed  out,  she  looked  up  from  a  pair  of  waffle-irons 
she  was  selecting  and  nodded  pleasantly. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Nicholas,"  she  said.  "  Ju- 
liet was  asking  after  you  in  her  last  letter.  You 
were  always  a  favourite  of  Juliet's.  I  was  telling 
Mr.  Burwell  so  only  last  night." 

"  She  was  very  kind,"  returned  Nicholas,  and 
added:  "  Is  Miss  Juliet— Mrs.  Gait  well?  " 

Juliet  Burwell  had  married  five  years  before,  and 
he  had  not  seen  her  since. 

Mrs.  Burwell  nodded  cheerily.  She  was  still  fresh 
and  youthful,  her  pink  cheeks  and  bright  eyes  giving 
the  gray  of  her  hair  the  effect  of  powder  sprinkled 
on  her  brown  fringe. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  143 

"  Yes,  Juliet  is  well,"  she  answered.  "  They  are 
living  in  Richmond  now.  Mr.  Gait  had  to  give  up 
his  practice  in  New  York  because  the  climate  did 
not  suit  Juliet's  health.  I  told  him  she  couldn't 
stand  transplanting  to  the  north,  and  I  was  right. 
They  had  to  move  south  again.  Yes,  Mr.  Pollard, 
the  middle-size  irons,  please.  I  think  they'll  fit  my 
stove.  If  they  don't,  I'll  exchange  them  for  the 
small  ones.  What  did  you  say,  Nicholas  ?  Oh! 
good-morning." 

She  turned  away,  and  Nicholas  stepped  over  her 
dripping  umbrella  and  went  out  into  the  rain. 

When  he  was  once  outside  he  shook  the  water 
from  his  shoulders  and  walked  rapidly  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  old  brick  court-house,  isolated  upon  the 
larger  green.  The  door  and  windows  were  closed, 
but  he  ascended  the  stone  steps  and  stood  beneath 
the  portico,  looking  back  upon  the  way  that  he  had 
come. 

The  street  was  deserted,  save  for  a  solitary  ox- 
cart rolling  heavily  through  the  mud.  In  the  dis- 
tance the  gray  drops  made  a  sombre  veil,  through 
which  the  foliage  of  King's  College  showed  in  a 
blurred  discolouration.  From  the  branches  of  trees 
a  double  fall  of  water  descended  with  a  melancholy 
sound. 

Presently  the  ox-cart  neared  him,  and  the  driver 
nodded,  eyeing  him  with  apathetic  interest. 

When  the  cart  had  passed  Nicholas  came  down 
the  steps  and  started  up  the  street  at  the  same  rapid 
walk.  He  was  not  thinking  of  his  way,  but  the  im- 
pulse of  action  had  seized  upon  him,  and  he  was 
walking  down  the  ferment  in  his  brain.     He  did  not 


144  The  Voice  of  the  People 

formulate  the  thought  that  with  bodily  fatigue  would 
come  mental  indifference;  he  merely  felt  that  when 
he  was  tired — dead  tired — he  would  go  home  and  sit 
down  to  dinner  and  face  his  father  and  discuss  Jerry 
Pollard's  terms.  He  would  do  that  when  he  was  too 
tired  to  care — not  before. 

When  he  reached  the  heavy  iron  gate  of  the  col- 
lege he  swung  it  open  and  entered  the  grounds.  In 
the  centre  of  the  walk  stood  the  statue  of  a  great 
Colonial  governor,  and  he  paused  before  it  for  an 
instant,  staring  up  into  the  battered  features  of  the 
marble  face.  He  realised  suddenly  that  he  had  never 
looked  at  it  before.  Daily,  for  twelve  years,  he  had 
passed  the  college  campus,  sometimes  crossing  it  so 
that  he  might  have  brushed  the  effigy  of  the  great 
Englishman  with  a  careless  hand — but  he  had  never 
seen  the  face  before.  Then  he  looked  through  the 
falling  rain  at  the  deserted  archway  of  the  old  brick 
building.  For  the  first  time  those  grim  walls,  which 
had  been  thrice  overthrown  and  had  arisen  thrice 
from  their  ashes,  impressed  him  with  the  triumphant 
service  they  had  rendered  in  the  culture  of  his  kind. 
He  saw  it  as  it  was — a  sacred  skeleton,  an  Hon- 
ourable decay.  The  long  line  of  illustrious  hands 
that  had  procured  its  ancient  charter  seemed  to  wave 
a  ghostly  benediction  over  its  ancient  learning. 
Clergy  and  burgesses,  council  and  governor,  plant- 
ers of  Virginia  and  bishops  of  London  had  stood  by 
its  birth.  It  was  the  fruit  of  the  union  of  the  old 
world  and  the  new,  and  it  had  waxed  strong  upon 
the  milk  of  its  mother  ere  it  turned  rebel.  Later,  to 
its  younger  country,  it  had  sent  forth  its  sons  as 
statesmen  who  gave  glory  to  its  name.  And  through 


The  Voice  of  the  People  145 

all  its  history  it  had  overcome  calamity  and  defied 
assault.  Thrice  it  had  fallen  and  thrice  it  had  re- 
arisen. 

He  recalled  next  the  sheltered  alcove  in  the  dim 
library,  where  he  had  studied  with  the  consumptive 
young  instructor,  who  was  dead.  The  creepers  upon 
the  wall  were  encroaching  stealthily  upon  the  alcove 
window.  Scarlet  tendrils,  like  forked  flames,  licked 
the  narrow  ledge.  Several  wet  sparrows  fluttered  in 
and  out  among  the  leaves. 

He  turned  hastily  away,  passed  the  great  English- 
man with  unseeing  eyes,  clanged  the  iron  gate  heav- 
ily behind  him,  and  went  on  towards  the  house  of 
his  father. 

The  family  were  at  dinner  when  he  entered,  and 
he  took  his  seat  silently  in  the  empty  chair  at  his 
stepmother's  right  hand. 

As  he  sat  down  she  reached  out  and  felt  his  coat 
sleeve. 

"  I  declar,  Nick,  you  air  soaked  clean  through," 
she  said.  "  Anybody'd  think  you'd  been  layin'  out 
in  the  rain  all  night.  You  go  up  and  change  your 
clothes  an'  I'll  keep  your  dinner  hot  on  the  stove." 

Nicholas  went  upstairs  mechanically,  and  when 
he  came  down  his  father  had  gone  to  the  stable  and 
his  stepmother  was  alone  in  the  kitchen. 

She  brought  him  his  dinner,  standing  beside  the 
table  while  he  ate  it,  watching  him  with  an  intentness 
that  was  almost  wistful. 

"  Would  you  like  some  molasses  on  your  corn 
pone?"  she  asked  as  he  finished  and  pushed  his 
plate  away.     Then,  as  he  shook  his  head,  she  added 
hesitatingly,  "  It  come  from  Jerry  Pollard's  store." 
10 


146  The  Voice  of  the  People 

But  he  only  shook  his  head  again,  following  with 
his  eyes  the  wave-like  design  on  the  mahogany- 
coloured  oilcloth  that  covered  the  table. 

Marthy  Burr  set  the  jug  aside,  nervously  clearing 
her  throat. 

"  I  reckon  Jerry  Pollard  has  got  one  of  the  finest 
stores  anywhar  'bouts,"  she  said  suddenly. 

Nicholas  looked  up  quickly  and  met  her  eyes. 
She  was  holding  a  dish  of  baked  potatoes  in  one 
hand  and  the  other  was  resting  for  support  upon  the 
edge  of  the  table.  Her  face  was  yellow  and  inter- 
lined, and  a  faint  odour  of  camphor  came  from  the 
bandage  about  her  cheek. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied  indifferently.  "  He  does  a  very 
good  business." 

His  stepmother  put  the  dish  of  potatoes  back  upon 
the  table  and  took  up  the  pitcher  of  buttermilk.  Her 
hand  was  trembling  nervously.  There  was  a  slight 
gasp  in  her  voice  when  she  spoke. 

"  I  don't  know  but  what  it's  as  big  a  thing  to  be 
in  a  fine  store  like  that  as  'tis  to  be  a  lawyer,"  she 
said. 

For  a  moment  Nicholas  did  not  answer.  His  eyes 
grew  darker  as  she  stood  before  him,  and  a  shadow 
closed  upon  his  face.  As  in  a  frame,  he  saw  the  out- 
line of  her  figure  defined  against  the  square  of  falling 
rain  between  the  window  sashes.  Her  shoulders, 
bent  slightly  forward  as  if  crushed  by  the  bearing  of 
heavy  burdens,  reminded  him  of  a  domestic  animal, 
full  of  years  and  labour. 

His  face  softened  and  he  smiled  into  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  don't  know  but  what  it  is  just  as  well,"  he 
responded  cheerfully. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  147 

The  next  day  he  went  into  Jerry  Pollard's  store 
and  began  his  winter's  work.  He  measured  off  un- 
bleached cotton  cloth  for  a  servant  girl ;  sold  a  pair 
of  shoes  to  a  farmer,  a  cravat  to  a  young  fellow  from 
the  grocery  shop  next  door,  and  a  set  of  garden 
tools  to  an  elderly  lady  who  lived  in  the  street  facing 
the  asylum  and  had  a  greenhouse.  At  odd  times  he 
looked  over  Jerry  Pollard's  books,  and  after  dark  he 
dunned  several  debtors  for  unpaid  bills.  He  did  it 
quietly  and  thoroughly,  neither  shirking  nor  over- 
elaborating  the  minutest  detail.  There  are  men  who 
have  an  immense  capacity  for  taking  pains  that  is 
rarer  than  genius,  and  he  was  one  of  them.  Whether 
he  made  a  success  or  a  failure  of  life,  he  would  do  it 
with  a  conscientious  use  of  opportunities,  good  or 
bad.  An  eye  that  is  trained  to  detect  the  values  of 
circumstances,  and  a  hand  that  is  quick  to  adjust 
them,  have  produced  the  mental  forces  that  make 
or  unmake  the  race. 

When  the  day  was  over  he  went  home  and  as- 
cended to  his  room  in  silence.  The  work  had  left 
him  with  a  curious  irritating  sense  of  its  distasteful- 
ness.  The  second  day  was  as  the  first — the  week 
was  as  the  month.  There  were  no  variations,  no 
difficulties,  no  advancement.  With  the  round  of 
monotony  his  irritation  sharpened.  When  Jerry 
Pollard  spoke  he  responded  in  monosyllables;  when 
Jerry  Pollard's  pretty  daughter,  Bessie,  smiled  in 
from  the  doorway,  he  kept  his  eyes  on  the  counter. 
At  home  he  was  even  less  responsive.  The  impulse 
which  had  prompted  him  to  return  a  cheering  false- 
hood to  his  stepmother  passed  quickly.  He  sacri- 
ficed himself  to  the  family  interests,  but  he  sacrificed 


148  The  Voice  of  the  People 

himself  begrudgingly.  His  face  assumed  lines  of 
sullen  repression;  the  tones  of  his  voice  were  full  of 
subdued  resentment.  He  found  satisfaction  in  meet- 
ing their  overtures  with  irony,  their  constraint  with 
callousness.  Since  he  had  given  the  one  thing  they 
required  and  he  valued,  he  justified  himself  in  a 
series  of  petty  tyrannies.  He  met  his  stepmother 
with  avoidance,  his  father  with  aversion.  The  chil- 
dren he  swore  at  or  ignored.  Amos  Burr,  gathering 
his  slow  wits  together,  regarded  him  with  a  chuckle 
of  self-congratulation.  His  sensibilities  were  not 
susceptible  to  slight  friction,  and  his  son's  attitude 
seemed  to  him  of  small  significance.  He  had  got 
what  he  wanted,  and  that  was  sufficient  unto  the 
hour. 

After  the  first  two  months,  Nicholas  underwent  a 
dogged  and  indifferent  adaptation.  He  ceased  to 
think  of  the  judge,  of  Juliet,  of  Eugenia.  He 
laughed  at  Jerry  Pollard's  jokes  and  he  winked  at 
Jerry  Pollard's  daughter.  His  horizon  narrowed  to 
the  four  walls  of  the  shop;  he  told  himself  that  he 
had  a  roof  above  his  head  and  fuel  for  his  stomach 
— that  Bessie  Pollard  had  skin  that  was  fairer  than 
Eugenia's  and  lips  as  red.  What  did  it  matter,  after 
all? 

Sometimes  Mrs.  Webb  entered  the  store,  sweep- 
ing him,  as  she  swept  the  counter,  with  her  clear, 
cold  glance,  and  once  Sally  Burwell  ran  in  to  do  an 
errand  for  her  mother  and  nodded  with  distant  pleas- 
antness as  she  met  his  eyes.  At  such  times  he  flushed 
and  ground  his  teeth,  but  after  Mrs.  Webb  came 
farmer  Turner,  who  shook  his  hand  and  said: 

"  Wall,  I'm  proud  of  you,  Nick  Burr." 


The  Voice  of  the  People  149 

And  after  Sally  Burwell  pretty  Bessie  Pollard 
threw  him  a  kiss  from  the  doorway.  It  was  not  that 
he  was  ashamed  of  his  work.  He  knew  that  at  the 
close  of  the  war  better  men  than  he  sought  and  ac- 
cepted gratefully  such  a  livelihood  as  he  disdained — 
that  women  in  whose  veins  ran  good  old  English 
blood  left  their  wasted  homes  to  teach  in  public 
schools,  or  turned  their  delicate  hands  to  the  needle 
for  support.  He  was  ashamed  of  his  past  ambition 
— of  his  vaunted  aspiration — and  he  was  ashamed  of 
Jerry  Pollard  and  his  service. 

The  winter  wore  gradually  to  spring.  A  brilliant 
April  melted  into  a  watery  May.  Nicholas,  coming 
to  Kingsborough  in  the  early  mornings,  would  feel 
the  long  spring  rains  in  his  face  as  he  splashed 
through  the  puddles  in  the  road.  In  the  wood  the 
white  blossoms  of  dogwood  showed  through  inter- 
lacing branches  like  stars  in  a  network  of  closely 
wrought  iron.  On  their  hardy  shrubs  the  pale  pink 
clusters  of  mountain  laurel  were  beaten  into  shape- 
less colour-masses  by  the  wind-blown  rains.  Some- 
times, up  above,  where  the  fiery  points  of  redbud 
trees  shot  skyward,  a  thrush  sang  or  a  blue  jay 
scolded — and  the  bird-notes  were  laden,  like  the  air, 
with  the  primal  ripeness  of  spring. 

Underfoot  the  earth  was  fecundating  in  dampness. 
Chill  blue  violets  emerged  from  beneath  the  spread 
of  rotting  leaves,  and  where  the  washed-out  sunlight 
had  last  shone  it  had  left  rays  of  wandering  dande- 
lions straying  from  the  open  roadside  to  the  edges  of 
the  wood. 

And  the  spring  passed  into  Nicholas  also.  The 
wonderful    renewal    of    surrounding    life    thrilled 


150  The  Voice  of  the  People 

through  the  repression  of  his  nature.  With  the  flow- 
ing of  the  sap  the  blood  flowed  more  freely  in  his 
veins.  New  possibilities  were  revealed  to  him;  new 
emotions  urged  him  into  fresh  endeavours.  All  his 
powerful,  unspent  youth  spurred  on  to  manhood. 


IV 


At  last  the  rains  were  over.  The  sun  came  out 
again,  and  with  it  the  growth  of  the  season  burst  into 
abundance.  There  were  bird-notes  on  the  air, 
fragrance  in  the  stillness,  bloom  on  the  trees.  In 
the  thicket  dogwood  massed  itself  in  clouds  of  dead- 
white  stars,  like  an  errant  trail  from  the  Milky  Way, 
lighting  the  wooded  twilight.  Wild  azalea,  so 
deeply  rose  that  the  hue  seemed  of  the  blood,  wafted 
its  sharp,  unearthly  scent  across  the  underbrush  to 
the  road.  The  woods  were  vocal  with  the  mating 
songs  of  their  winged  inhabitants.  The  music  of 
the  thrush  welled  from  the  sheer  forceful  joy  of  liv- 
ing. "  It  is  good — good — good  to  be  a  lover !  "  he 
sang  again  and  again  with  amorous  repetition  and 
a  full-throated  flourish  of  improvisation.  In  the 
pauses  of  the  thrush  sounded  the  cheery  whistle  of 
the  redbird,  the  crying  of  the  catbird,  the  liquid 
tones  of  the  song  sparrow,  and  the  giddy  exclama- 
tions of  the  pewee.  Sometimes  an  oriole  darted 
overhead  in  a  royal  flash  of  black  and  yellow,  a  robin 
stood  in  the  road  and  delivered  a  hearty  invitation, 
or  a  hawk  flew  past,  pursued  by  martins. 

With  the  spring  planting  came  a  chance  of  out- 
door work,  and  Nicholas  would  sometimes  rise  at 
dawn  and  do  a  piece  of  ploughing  before  breakfast. 
He  had  driven  the  team  out  one  morning  across 
the  brown,  bare  earth,  which  the  plough  had  ripped 
open  in  a  jagged  track,  when   something  in  the 


152  The  Voice  of  the  People 

silence  and  the  scents  of  nature  smote  him  suddenly 
as  with  a  vital  force.  Dropping  the  reins  to  the 
ground,  he  threw  back  his  head  and  breathed  a  keen, 
quick  sense  of  exaltation.  A  warm  mist,  sweet  and 
fresh  as  the  breath  of  a  cow,  overhung  hill  and 
field,  road  and  meadow.  In  a  black-browed  cedar 
tree  a  mocking-bird  was  singing. 

With  a  sudden  shout  Nicholas  voiced  the  glorifi- 
cation of  toil — of  honest  work  well  done.  He  felt 
with  the  force  of  a  revelation  that  to  throw  up  the 
clods  of  earth  manfully  is  as  beneficent  as  to  revolu- 
tionise the  world.  It  was  not  the  matter  of  the 
work,  but  the  mind  that  went  into  it,  that  counted — 
and  the  man  who  was  not  content  to  do  small 
things  well  would  leave  great  things  undone.  The 
beasts  before  him  did  not  shirk  their  labour  because 
it  was  clay  and  not  gold  dust  that  trailed  behind  the 
plough  ;  why  should  he  ?  And  where  was  happiness 
if  it  sprung  not  from  the  soil  ?  Where  contentment 
if  it  dwelt  not  near  to  Nature  ?  For  what  was  better 
than  these  things — the  clear  air  of  sunrise,  the  keen, 
sweet  smell  of  the  fertile  earth,  the  relaxation  of  tired 
muscles  ?  Why  should  he,  who  had  been  born  to  the 
soil,  struggle  forth  to  alien  ends  as  a  sightless  earth- 
worm to  the  harrow's  teeth? 

On  his  way  in  from  the  fields  he  stopped  an  in- 
stant at  the  gate  of  the  barnyard  to  look  at  the  red- 
and-white  cow  that  was  licking  her  little,  tottering 
calf.  Some  rollicking  lambs  were  skipping  near  a 
dignified  group  of  ewes,  that  looked  on  with  half- 
fearful,  half-disapproving  faces. 

At  the  pump  he  saw  his  stepmother  filling  a  water 
bucket,  and  he  took  it  from  her  hands. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  1 5  3 

"  I  reckon  it  is  too  heavy  for  you  to  carry,"  he  said 
timidly. 

"  'Tain't  much  to  tote,"  returned  Marthy  Burr 
opposingly.  "  If  I'd  never  had  nothin'  more'n  that 
to  bear  I'd  have  as  straight  a  back  as  yo'  pa's  got. 
'Tain't  the  water  buckets  as  bends  a  woman,  nohow ; 
it's  the  things  as  the  Lord  lays  on  extry." 

She  relinquished  the  bucket  and  followed  Nicho- 
las resentfully  to  the  house. 

"  I  never  did  care  'bout  havin'  folks  come  'round 
interferin'  with  my  burdens,"  she  murmured  half- 
aggrievedly.  "  I  ain't  done  for  yet,  an'  when  I  is 
I  reckon  I'll  know  it  as  soon  as  anybody — lessen  it's 
yo'  pa,  who's  got  powerful  sharp  eyes  at  seein'  the 
failin's  of  other  people — an'  powerful  dull  ones  when 
it  comes  to  recognisin'  his  own." 

Then  she  set  about  preparing  breakfast,  and 
Nicholas  flung  himself  into  a  chair  on  the  porch. 
Nannie,  a  pretty,  auburn-haired  girl,  was  grinding 
coffee  in  a  small  mill,  and  he  looked  at  her  thought- 
fully ;  then  Jubal  came  out,  whittling  a  stick,  and  he 
turned  his  gaze  inquiringly  upon  him. 

"  What  would  you  like  to  do  in  the  world, 
Jubal  ?  "  he  asked,  "  best  of  all  ?  " 

Jubal  looked  up  in  perplexity,  his  fat  forehead 
wrinkling. 

"  You  ain't  countin'  in  eatin',  I  s'pose  ?  "  he  re- 
plied doubtfully. 

Nicholas  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  leave  out  eating,"  he  said. 

"  An'  the  splittin'  open  of  that  durn  livered  Spike 
Turner  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  too." 


Y 


154  The  Voice  of  the  People 

Jubal  whittled  slowly,  his  forehead  wrinkling 
more  deeply. 

"  Then  I  don't  know  whether  it's  to  give  ma  a  rest 
or  to  own  Billy  Flinders's  coon  dog,  Boss,"  he  said. 

Nicholas  laughed  for  an  instant,  but  the  laugh 
softened  into  a  smile. 

At  the  table  he  asked  his  stepmother  and  Sairy 
Jane  about  the  spring  chickens,  and  they  answered 
with  surprised  eagerness. 

"  I  am  going  to  mark  the  lambs  to-morrow,"  he 
said.  "  They're  a  nice  lot."  And  he  added :  "  Some 
day  I'll  take  the  farm  and  make  it  pay." 

"  I  don't  see  what  you  want  to  go  steppin'  in  yo' 
pa's  shoes  for,"  put  in  Marthy  Burr.  "  When  toes 
have  got  p'inted  down-hill  they  ain't  goin'  no  other 
way.  Don't  you  come  back  to  raisin'  things  on  this 
land.  I  ain't  never  seen  nothin'  thrive  on  it  yet,  cep'n 
weeds,  an'  the  Lord  knows  they  warn't  planted." 

Nicholas  shook  his  head. 

"  Why,  look  at  Turner,"  he  said.  "  His  land  is  as 
poor  as  this,  and  he  makes  an  easy  living." 

"  A  Turner  ain't  a  Burr,"  returned  his  stepmother 
with  uncompromising  logic,  "  an'  a  Burr  ain't  a 
Turner.  Whar  the  blood  runs  the  man  follows, 
an'  yours  ain't  runnin'  towards  the  farm.  Jeb 
Turner  can  fling  a  handful  of  corn  in  poor  groun', 
an'  thar'll  come  up  a  cornfield,  an'  yo'  pa  may  plant 
with  the  sweat  of  his  brow  an'  the  groanin'  of  his 
spirit,  an'  the  crows  git  it.  A  farmer's  got  to  be 
born,  same  as  a  fool.  You  can't  make  a  corn  pone 
out  of  flour  dough  by  the  twistin'  of  it." 

"  That's  so,"  admitted  Amos  Burr,  laying  down 
his  knife  and  meeting  his  wife's  eyes.     "  That's  so. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  1 5  5 

You  can't  make  a  corn  pone  out  of  flour  dough, 
noways  you  turn  it." 

"  Perhaps  I'll  try  some  day,"  said  Nicholas  with 
a  laugh ;  and  he  rose  and  went  out  of  the  house. 

When  he  had  reached  the  little  gate  he  heard  a 
voice  behind  him,  and  turned  to  find  his  half-sister 
Nannie,  her  cheeks  flushed  like  a  damp,  wild  rose 
above  her  faded  dress. 

"  I  want  you  to  bring  me  something  from  the 
store,  Nick,"  she  stammered.  "  I  want  a  blue  rib- 
bon for  my  hair,  it's — it's  so  worrisome." 

She  shook  her  auburn  locks,  and  Nicholas  real- 
ised suddenly  that  she  must  be  very  good  to  look 
at — to  men  who  were  only  in  a  Scriptural  sense  her 
brothers.     He  felt  a  vague  pride  in  her. 

"  Why,  of  course  I  will,"  he  answered.  "  Blue 
let  it  be." 

And  he  opened  the  gate  and  went  on  his  way,  leav- 
ing Nannie,  still  flushed,  in  the  path. 

When  he  took  down  Jerry  Pollard's  shutters  a 
half-hour  later  he  stood  for  an  instant  looking 
thoughtfully  down  upon  the  assortment  in  the  win- 
dow. Then  he  leaned  over  and  conscientiously  set 
upright  a  blue-glass  vase  before  going  behind  the 
counter  to  unpin  the  curtains  hanging  across  the 
dry-goods  shelves. 

After  breakfast  Bessie  Pollard  came  in  and  stood 
with  her  elbow  resting  on  the  showcase  as  she  flirted 
a  small  feather  duster.  She  had  just  released  her 
hair  from  curl  paper,  and  it  hung  in  golden  ringlets 
over  her  forehead.  Her  face  was  ripe  and  red,  like 
a  well-sunned  peach,  and  the  firm  curves  of  her 
bosom  swelled  the  gathers  of  her  gown. 


156  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  You  look  real  spry  this  morning,"  she  said 
coquettishly ;  but  he  turned  from  her  in  sudden  dis- 
taste. Her  tawdry  refinement  irritated  the  more 
serious  manner  of  his  mood. 

Presently  she  went  back  to  her  dusting,  and  he 
completed  his  daily  setting  to  rights  of  the  shop 
before  he  drew  up  to  the  desk  and  made  out  the  bills 
that  were  due  for  the  month.  It  was  not  until  some 
hours  later  that  he  looked  up  upon  hearing  a  step 
on  the  threshold.  At  first  he  stood  up  mechanically 
at  the  sight  of  a  girl  in  a  riding-habit.  Then  he 
started  and  drew  back,  for  the  girl  lifted  her  head, 
and  he  saw  that  it  was  Eugenia  Battle.  In  the  same 
glance  he  saw  also  that  there  was  a  keen  surprise  in 
her  face. 

"  Why,  Nick  Burr !  "  she  said  breathlessly.  She 
tripped  over  her  long  riding-skirt  and  caught  it 
hastily  in  one  hand ;  in  the  other  she  carried  a  small 
switch.  She  had  grown  tall  and  straight,  and  her 
hair  was  gathered  up  from  her  shoulders. 

For  a  moment  they  were  both  silent.  In  Eu- 
genia's face  the  surprise  gave  place  to  gladness,  and 
the  warmth  of  her  personality  gathered  to  her  eyes. 
She  held  out  her  ungloved  hand. 

"  Why,  Nick  Burr  !  "  she  said  again. 

But  Nicholas  looked  at  her  in  silence.  All  the 
dogged  bitterness  of  the  last  six  months  welled  to 
his  lips — all  his  new-found  philosophy  evaporated  at 
the  sting  of  wounded  pride.  He  remembered  with  a 
start  the  gray  road  on  the  afternoon  in  November, 
the  sullen  cast  of  the  sky,  the  hopeless  trend  of  the 
wind  among  the  trees,  the  leaping  of  the  light  into 
Eugenia's    face.      She    laughed    now    as    she    had 


The  Voice  of  the  People  157 

laughed  then — a  hearty  little  burst  of  surprise  in  the 
suddenness  of  the  meeting. 

He  turned  quickly  from  the  outstretched  hand. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  "  he  asked,  and  his  tone 
was  like  Jerry  Pollard's. 

Eugenia's  hand  fell  to  her  side,  closing  upon  the 
folds  of  her  skirt.  She  caught  her  lip  between  her 
teeth  with  a  petulant  twitch.  Then  she  came  for- 
ward and  laid  a  small  brown  bit  of  cloth  upon  the 
counter. 

"  A  spool  of  silk  this  shade,"  she  said  briskly. 
"  Please  match  it  very  carefully." 

Nicholas  pulled  open  the  small  drawers  contain- 
ing the  silk,  and  compared  the  sample  with  the  row 
of  spools.  He  made  his  selection,  showing  it  to 
Eugenia  before  wrapping  it  in  brown  paper. 

"  Is  that  all?  "  he  asked  grimly. 

Eugenia  nodded.  He  gave  her  the  spool,  and  she 
lifted  her  skirt  and  went  out  of  the  shop.  A  mo- 
ment more,  and  she  passed  the  door  swiftly  on  the 
brown  mare.  Nicholas  closed  the  drawer  and  laid 
the  torn  sheet  of  wrapping  paper  back  in  its  place. 
A  little  girl  came  in  for  a  card  of  hooks  and  eyes 
for  her  mother,  a  dressmaker,  and  he  gave  them  to 
her  and  dropped  the  nickel  in  the  till.  When  she 
went  out  he  followed  her  to  the  door  and  stood  look- 
ing out  into  the  gray  dust  of  the  street. 

Across  the  way  a  lady  was  gathering  roses  from 
a  vine  that  clambered  over  her  piazza,  and  the 
sunlight  struck  straight  at  her  gracious  figure. 
From  afar  off  came  the  sound  of  children  laughing. 
Down  the  street  several  mild-eyed  Jersey  cows  were 
driven  by  a  little  negro  to  the  court-house  green. 


158  The  Voice  of  the  People 

In  a  near  tree  a  wood-bird  sang  a  score  of  dreamy 
notes.  Gradually  the  quiet  of  the  scene  wrought 
its  spell  upon  him — the  insistent  languor  drugged 
him  like  a  narcotic.  On  the  wide,  restless  globe 
there  is  perhaps  no  village  of  three  streets,  no  set- 
tlement that  has  been  made  by  man,  so  utterly  the 
cradle  of  quiescence.  From  the  listless  battlefields, 
where  grass  runs  green  and  wild,  to  the  little  white- 
washed gaol,  where  roses  bloom,  it  is  a  petrified 
memory,  a  perennial  day  dream. 

The  lady  across  the  street  passed  under  her  rose 
vine,  her  basket  filled  with  creamy  clusters.  The 
cows  filed  lazily  on  the  court-house  green.  The 
wood-bird  in  the  near  tree  sang  over  its  dreamy 
notes.  The  clear  black  shadows  in  the  street  lay 
like  full-length  figures  across  the  vivid  sunlight. 

The  bitterness  passed  slowly  from  his  lips.  He 
turned,  and  was  reentering  the  shop,  when  his  name 
was  called  sharply. 

"  Why,  Nick  Burr !  " 

The  words  were  Eugenia's,  but  the  voice  was  Tom 
Bassett's.  He  had  come  up  suddenly  with  the  judge, 
and  as  Nicholas  turned  he  caught  his  hand  in  a 
hearty  grasp. 

"  Well,  I  call  this  luck!  "  he  cried.  "  I  say,  Nick, 
you  haven't  grown  bald  since  I  saw  you.  Do  you 
remember  the  time  you  shaved  every  strand  of 
hair  off  your  head  so  we'd  stop  calling  you  '  Car- 
rotty'?" 

"  I  remember  you  called  me  '  Baldy,'  "  said  Nicho- 
las, running  his  hand  through  his  thick,  red  hair. 
Then  he  looked  at  the  judge.  "  I  hope  you  are  well, 
sir,"  he  added. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  159 

The  judge  bowed  with  his  fine-flavoured  courtesy. 
"  As  I  trust  you  are,"  he  returned  graciously. 

"  Well,  all  I've  got  to  say,"  put  in  Tom,  as  his 
father  finished,  "  is  that  it's  a  shame — a  confounded 
shame.  What  good  will  Nick's  brains  do  him  in  old 
Pollard's  store?  Old  Pollard's  a  skinflint,  anyway, 
and  he  cuffed  me  once  when  I  was  a  small  chap." 

Nicholas  glanced  back  uncertainly  into  the  shop. 

"  Oh,  he  isn't  so  bad  when  you  know  him,"  he 
said.     "  Most  folks  aren't." 

"  He  seems  to  value  Nicholas's  services,"  added 
the  judge  politely. 

Nicholas  flushed.  "  I  don't  know  about  that,"  he 
returned  awkwardly. 

"  I  know  one  thing,  though,"  said  Tom  with 
slow  wrath,  "  and  that  is  that  I'm  not  green  enough 
to  be  fooled  by  Nick  Burr,  if  other  people  are. 
Father  told  me  last  night  that  it  was  Nick's  own 
choice  that  took  him  to  Jerry  Pollard's.  Choice, 
the  Dickens !  Why,  it's  those  blasted  people  of  his 
that  put  him  here." 

Tom  was  very  red  in  the  face,  so  was  Nicholas. 
They  looked  at  the  judge,  and  the  judge  looked 
back  at  them  with  a  humorous  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 

"  My  dear  Tom,"  he'Said  at  last,  "  I  never  gave 
you  credit  for  being  a  Solomon,  but  some  day  your 
wit  may  put  your  father  to  shame." 

Then  he  held  out  his  hand  to  Nicholas. 

"  When  you're  a  little  older,  my  boy,"  he  re- 
marked, "  you  may  learn  that,  though  an  old  fool 
may  be  the  biggest  fool,  he's  not  the  only  one. 
Come  to  see  us  when  you  feel  like  it,  eh,  Tom?" 

They  passed  on  together,  and   Nicholas  stood 


160  The  Voice  of  the  People 

looking  after  them  until  a  man  came  in  to  exchange 
a  pair  of  shoes. 

"  They're  a  leetle  too  skimpy  'cross  the  toes,"  he 
said  deprecatingly.  "  The  heels  air  first-rate,  but 
the  toes  sorter  seem  to  be  made  fur  a  three-toed 
somebody.  'Tain't  as  if  I  could  jest  set  aroun'  in 
'em,  of  course ;  then  they'd  be  a  fine  fit,  but  when  I 
go  ter  stan'  up  they  pinches." 

Nicholas  gave  him  a  larger  size  and  put  the  box 
back  upon  the  shelf.  He  was  thinking  of  Tom 
Bassett  and  the  twinkle  in  the  judge's  eyes,  and  he 
did  not  hear  the  man's  rambling  speech.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  his  friendship  with  Tom  and  his  father 
had  been  restored — that  he  might  once  more  go 
freely  in  and  out  of  the  judge's  house. 

When  the  day  was  over  he  walked  slowly  home- 
ward along  the  deserted  road,  his  mind  still  busy 
with  recollections  of  the  morning.  Yes,  life  was 
decidedly  endurable  at  worst.  If  he  might  not  be- 
come celebrated,  he  might  at  least  become  content. 
He  was  not  Tom  Bassett,  but  he  had  Tom  Bassett's 
friendship.  He  would  live  a  simple  life  in  his  own 
class  among  his  own  people,  and  he  would  grow  to 
be  respected  by  those  who  were  above  him. 

He  had  entered  the  wood,  when  he  remembered 
suddenly  that  he  had  forgotten  the  ribbon  for  his 
sister  Nannie.  He  turned  quickly  and  retraced  his 
steps  through  the  thickening  twilight. 


V. 


So  Nicholas's  first  fight  for  his  manhood  was 
fought  and  won.  He  went  back  to  his  books — went 
back  because  his  intellect  ordained  it,  and  the  ordi- 
nance of  intellect  is  fate — but  bitterness  had  gone 
out  of  him,  and  he  had  come  into  his  own.  From  the 
stress  of  the  last  year  he  had  found  security  in  ac- 
ceptance. His  life  might  not  be  such  as  he  had 
planned  it — whose  was? — his  work  might  not  be 
the  thing  he  wanted — again,  whose  was? — but  life 
and  work  were  with  him,  and  it  remained  for  him 
to  make  the  best  of  them.  Fate  might  make  him 
a  shopkeeper ;  he  would  see  to  it  that  it  made  him  a 
successful  one.  Success  read  backwards  spelt  work, 
and  work  was  his  inheritance — a  heritage  of  sweat 
and  labour. 

He  went  to  Jerry  Pollard's  an  hour  earlier  that  he 
might  rearrange  to  advantage  the  shelves.  His 
employer  had  secured,  below  cost,  a  supply  of  dry 
goods,  and  preparations  were  in  the  making  for  the 
first  summer  sale  in  Kingsborough.  *  Nicholas  con- 
ducted the  arrangements  as  conscientiously  as  he 
might  have  conducted  a  legal  argument.  It  was 
the  thing  before  him,  and  it  must  not  fail. 

But  at  night  he  found  his  greater  hour.  When 
supper  was  over  and  he  had  helped  his  father  with 
the  odd  jobs  of  the  farm,  he  would  take  the  smoky 
kerosene  lamp  to  his  room  and  plunge  into  the  pages 
of  "  The  Federalist."  From  his  sharp,  retentive 
ii 


1 62  The  Voice  of  the  People 

memory  nothing  passed.  He  held  his  knowledge 
with  the  same  vital  grip  with  which  he  held  his 
friends. 

He  had  the  judge's  library  now  and  the  judge's 
assistance.  Evening  after  evening  he  sat  in  the  dim, 
ghost-hallowed  room,  the  shining  calf-bound  vol- 
umes girdling  the  walls,  and  absorbed  the  judge  as 
the  judge,  in  his  own  time,  had  absorbed  the  men 
who  were  gone.  From  that  rich  storehouse  of  high 
principles  and  simple  deeds  Nicholas's  future  was 
drawing  nourishment.  Judge  Bassett  had  lived  his 
life  in  a  village,  but  he  had  lived  it  among  statesmen. 
His  book-shelves  were  green  with  their  inspiration, 
his  memory  fresh  from  their  impress.  In  his  youth 
he  himself  had  been  one  of  the  hopes  of  his  State;  in 
his  age  he  was  one  of  her  consolations. 

He  treated  the  younger  man  with  that  quaint 
courtliness  which  knew  not  affectation.  When  he 
talked  to  him,  as  he  often  did,  of  the  great  legal 
minds,  it  was  always  with  the  courtesy  of  their  titles. 
He  spoke  of  "  Mr.  Chancellor  Kent,"  of  "  Mr.  Jus- 
tice Blackstone,"  as  he  spoke  of  "  President  Davis  " 
or  of  "  General  Lee."  To  have  alluded  to  them  more 
familiarly  he  would  have  held  to  be  a  breach  of  eti- 
quette of  unpardonable  grossness. 

One  day  he  had  started  in  Nicholas  his  old  politi- 
cal dreams  of  Jeffersonian  lustre. 

"  Virginia  is  not  dead  but  sleepeth,"  the  judge  had 
said,  as  a  prelude  to  denunciation  of  the  Readjuster 
party  then  in  power. 

Nicholas  was  looking  at  a  collection  of  autograph 
letters  that  lay  on  the  judge's  desk.  He  glanced 
up  with  an  impulsive  start. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  163 

"  Oh,  but  I  should  like  to  have  lived  then! "  he 
exclaimed. 

The  older  man  shook  his  head. 

"  It  is  not  the  times,  but  the  man,"  he  answered. 
"  The  time  makes  the  man,  the  great  man  makes  his 
time." 

He  leaned  his  massive  old  head  against  the  carved 
back  of  his  chair  and  looked  at  the  other  in  his 
kindly,  unambitious  optimism.  He  had  lost  most 
that  the  world  accounts  of  worth,  but  life  had  dealt 
gently  by  him,  on  the  whole,  since  it  had  never  in- 
fringed upon  the  sensitiveness  of  his  self-esteem. 

"  It's  rough  on  the  man,"  Nicholas  returned 
brusquely,  and  a  little  later  he  went  out  into  the 
night.  He  had  his  periods  of  depression,  when  de- 
sire seemed  greater  than  duty,  as  he  had  his  periods 
of  exaltation,  when  duty  seemed  greater  than  desire. 
Neither  affected,  to  outward  seeming,  the  course  of 
his  life,  but  each  left  its  mark  upon  his  mental  forces. 
The  chief  thing  was  that  he  did  the  work  he  hated 
as  thoroughly  as  he  did  the  work  he  loved. 

The  spring  ripened  into  summer  and  the  summer 
chilled  into  autumn.  He  had  kept  rigidly  to  his  way 
and  to  his  resolutions.  From  neither  had  he  swerved 
in  one  regard.  His  stepmother,  fixing  sharp,  tired 
eyes  upon  him  mentally  drafted,  "  Arter  all's  said  an' 
done,  the  Lord  knows  best."  She  believed  him  to 
be  content,  as  she  had  reason  to,  for  he  gave  no  out- 
ward uneasy  sign.  When  his  small  savings  had  paid 
off  Amos  Burr's  little  debt,  and  they  started,  un- 
handicapped,  upon  their  shaky  progress,  it  seemed 
to  her  that  she  was  justified  in  commending,  for  the 
second  time,  the  visible  methods  of  Providence — a 


164  The  Voice  of  the  People 

commendation  which  faltered  only  before  a  threaten- 
ing twinge  of  neuralgia. 

Early  in  October  the  judge,  whose  practice  was 
drawn  largely  from  other  sections  of  the  State,  left 
home  for  an  absence  of  several  weeks.  Upon  his 
return  he  sent  for  Nicholas  in  the  early  afternoon, 
an  unusual  happening.  The  young  man,  dropping 
in  at  two  o'clock,  found  him  at  work  in  his  library 
before  the  early  dinner,  a  generous  mint  julep  upon 
a  silver  tray  on  his  desk.  Caesar  was  an  acknowl- 
edged artist  in  the  mixing  of  the  beverage,  and  Mrs. 
Burwell  had  once  exclaimed  that  "  the  judge  was 
prouder  of  Caesar's  fame  at  the  bar  than  of  his  own." 

"  It  is  an  art  that  is  becoming  extinct,  madam," 
the  judge  had  replied  sadly.  "  I  should  wager  there 
are  more  men  in  the  State  to-day  who  can  make  a 
speech  than  can  mix  a  julep.  Caesar's  distinction  is 
greater  than  mine." 

To-day,  as  Nicholas  entered,  the  judge  greeted 
him  hospitably  and  called  for  another  concoction. 
When  Caesar  brought  it,  frosted  and  clear  and  odor- 
ous, the  judge  raised  his  own  goblet  and  bowed  to 
his  caller. 

"To  your  future,  my  boy,"  he  said  graciously; 
then,  as  Nicholas  blushed  and  stammered,  he  asked 
kindly: 

"  How  are  you  getting  on  now?  " 

"  Very  well." 

"  So  well  that  you  wouldn't  like  a  change?  " 

Nicholas  threw  a  startled  look  upon  him.  His 
pulse  beat  swiftly,  and  his  skin  burned.  By  these 
physical  reactions  he  realised  the  fluttering  of  his 
hopes. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  165 

"  A  change !  "  he  said  slowly,  holding  himself  in 
hand.     "  Yes,  I — should — like  a  change." 

The  judge  sipped  his  julep,  breathing  with  enjoy- 
ment the  strong  fragrance  of  the  mint. 

"  I  have  just  seen  my  friend,  Professor  Hartwell, 
of  the  University,"  he  said,  "and  he  mentioned  to  me 
that  in  the  work  of  compiling  his  law-book  he  found 
great  need  of  a  secretary.  It  at  once  occurred  to 
me  that  it  was  a  suitable  opening  for  you,  and  I  ven- 
tured to  suggest  as  much  to  him " 

He  paused  an  instant,  gazing  thoughtfully  into  his 
glass. 

"  And  he  ?  "  urged  Nicholas  hurriedly. 

"  He  would  like  some  correspondence  with  you,  I 
believe;  but,  if  the  prospect  pleases  you,  and  you 
would  care  to  undertake  the  work " 

"Care?"  gasped  the  younger  man  passionately; 
"  care!     Why  I — I'd  sell  my  soul  for  the  chance." 

The  judge  laughed  softly. 

"  Such  extreme  measures  are  unnecessary,  I  think. 
No  doubt  it  can  be  arranged.  I  understand  from 
your  father  that  he  has  tided  over  his  last  failures." 

But  Nicholas  did  not  hear  him;  the  words  of  re- 
lease were  ringing  in  his  ears. 

The  year  that  Nicholas  Burr  "worked  "  his  way  to 
a  degree  at  the  University  of  the  State  Tom  Bassett 
returned  to  Kingsborough  and  took  up  that  portion 
of  the  judge's  practice  which  he  termed  "  local";  and 
his  fellow  citizens,  whose  daily  existence  was  proof 
of  their  belief  in  hereditary  virtues,  brought  their 
legal  difficulties  to  his  door.  He  was  a  stout,  flaxen- 
haired  young  fellow,  with  broad  shoulders  and  hon- 


1 66  The  Voice  of  the  People 

est,  light-blue  eyes,  holding  an  habitual  shade  of  per- 
plexity. People  said  of  him  that  his  heart  outran 
his  head,  but  they  loved  him  not  the  less  for  this — 
perhaps  the  more. 

Upon  his  return  to  Kingsborough  he  applied  him- 
self conscientiously  to  his  cases,  paid  a  series  of 
social  calls,  and  fell  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with 
Sally  Burwell. 

"  There  are  two  things  which  every  respectable 
young  man  in  Kingsborough  goes  through  with," 
remarked  the  rector's  wife  as  she  sat  at  breakfast 
with  her  husband.  "  He  becomes  confirmed  and  he 
goes  mad  about  Sally  Burwell.  For  my  part  it  does 
not  surprise  me.  She's  not  pretty,  but  no  man  has 
ever  found  it  out,  and  no  man  ever  will.  Did  you 
notice  that  muslin  she  had  on  in  church  last  Sunday 
— all  frills  and  tucks " 

"  My  mind  was  upon  my  sermon,  dear,"  mur- 
mured the  rector  apologetically. 

"  But  we've  eyes  as  well  as  minds,  and  those  of 
every  man  in  the  congregation  were  on  that  dress  of 
Sally's." 

The  rector  meekly  stirred  his  coffee. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  he  answered.  "  But  what 
do  you  think  of  Tom's  chances,  my  dear?  " 

"  They  aren't  worth  a  candle,"  returned  his  wife 
with  an  emphasis  which  settled  the  question  in  the 
rector's  mind. 

Within  a  month  Tom's  chances  were  the  topic  of 
Kingsborough.  They  were  discussed  at  the  post- 
office,  at  sewing  societies,  at  church  festivals.  Not 
a  soul  in  the  congregation  but  knew  the  number  of 
times  he  had  accompanied  her  to  evening  services; 


The  Voice  of  the  People  167 

not  an  inhabitant  of  the  town  but  was  aware  of  the 
hour  and  the  afternoon  upon  which  they  had  last 
walked  through  Lover's  Lane. 

When  the  state  of  affairs  had  gone  the  rounds  of 
the  community  until  they  were  worn  threadbare, 
they  effected  a  final  lodgment  in  the  mind  of  Mr. 
Burwell. 

"  I  have  made  a  little  discovery,"  he  announced 
one  evening  to  his  wife  as  she  was  brushing  her 
hair  for  the  night. 

Mrs.  Burwell  was  all  delighted  attention. 

"  Why,  what  can  it  be? "  she  murmured  with 
gratifying  feminine  curiosity. 

"  You  may  have  noticed,  my  dear,"  began  Mr. 
Burwell  with  a  nervous  glance  at  Sally's  chamber 
door  across  the  hall,  "  that  our  friend  Tom  Bassett 
has  called  frequently  of  late." 

His  wife  nodded  smilingly. 

"  Well,  it  has  occurred  to  me  from  something  I 
observed  this  evening  that  it  is  Sally  who  attracts 
him." 

Mrs.  Burwell  threw  back  her  pretty  head  and 
laughed. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Burwell !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  did  you 
think  that  it  was  you — or  I — or  your  grandfather's 
portrait?  " 

Her  husband  looked  slightly  abashed. 

"  So  you  have  observed  it?"  he  asked  in  an  in- 
jured tone. 

Mrs.  Burwell  laid  her  brush  aside  and  crossed  the 
room  to  where  he  stood. 

"  Everybody  knows  you  are  a  very  clever  man, 
Mr.  Burwell,"  she  said.     "  I  have  never  pretended 


1 68  The  Voice  of  the  People 

to  have  as  much  sense  as  a  man,  and  I  hope  nobody 
has  ever  accused  me  of  anything  so  unwomanly — 
but  there  are  some  things  you  can't  teach  your  wife, 
with  all  your  experience." 

Mr.  Burwell  stroked  the  plump  hand  on  his  arm 
and  smiled  in  returning  self-esteem. 

"And  you  are  quite  sure  he  fancies  Sally?"  he 
inquired. 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  his  wife  decisively. 

"  Would  it  not  be  wise  to  prepare  her,  my  dear?  " 

"  Prepare  Sally?"  gasped  Mrs.  Burwell,  and  she 
went  back  to  her  mirror  with  dancing  eyes. 


VI 


"  I  have  learned  all  they  can  teach  me  here," 
wrote  Eugenia  from  school  on  her  eighteenth  birth- 
day, "  so  I'll  be  home  to-morrow." 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  exclaimed  the  general,  holding 
the  letter  above  his  cakes  and  coffee.  "  The  child's 
mad — clean  mad !     We  must  put  a  stop  to  it." 

"  Write  her  to  stay  where  she  is,"  said  Miss  Chris 
decisively. 

"  I'll  write  her,  the  young  puss !  "  returned  the 
general  angrily.  "  Giving  herself  airs  at  her  age, 
is  she?    Why,  she's  just  left  her  bottle!  " 

"  What  else  does  she  say,  Tom  ?  "  inquired  his 
sister  as  she  passed  him  the  maple  syrup. 

The  letter  fluttered  helplessly  in  the  general's 
hand.  "  I  can't  stay  away  any  longer  from  my 
dear,  bad-tempered,  old  dad,"  he  read  in  a  breaking 
voice ;  then  he  added  hesitatingly,  "  I  don't  reckon 
she's  right  about  knowing  enough,  eh,  Chris  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  responded  Miss  Chris  severely. 
"  The  child's  as  headstrong  as  a  colt.  Get  that 
letter  off  in  time  for  the  train,  and  I'll  let  Sampson 
carry  it  to  town." 

The  general  finished  his  breakfast  and  went  to 
the  old  secretary  in  the  library  to  write  his  letter. 
When  he  had  given  it  to  Sampson  he  came  back 
to  Miss  Chris,  who  was  washing  the  teacups  in  the 
pantry. 


1 70  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  I  s'pose  we  might  as  well  get  her  room  ready," 
he  suggested.  "  She  may  come,  anyway,  you 
know." 

Miss  Chris  looked  up  with  a  laugh  from  the  deli- 
cate saucer  she  was  wiping. 

"  I  know  it,"  she  admitted ;  "  and  I'll  see  to  her 
room.     But  your  letter  was  positive,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Y-e-s,"  answered  the  general  lamely,  and  he  re- 
turned to  the  Richmond  papers  with  an  eager  flush 
in  his  face. 

The  next  day  when  Eugenia  reached  Kings- 
borough  she  found  the  dilapidated  carriage  awaiting 
her,  with  Sampson  upon  the  driver's  seat.  With  an 
impetuous  flutter  she  threw  her  arms  about  the 
necks  of  the  old  horses.  "  Why,  you  dear  things !  " 
she  cried;  then  she  held  out  her  hand  to  Sampson. 
"  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Sampson,"  she  said.  "  But 
why  didn't  papa  come  to  meet  me  ?  " 

Her  animated  eyes  glanced  joyously  from  side  to 
side  and  her  lips  were  brimming  with  the  delight 
of  homecoming. 

Sampson  turned  the  wheel  for  her  as  she  got  into 
the  carriage,  and  gave  her  the  linen  lap-robe. 

"  You  sho  is  growed.  Miss  Eugeny,"  he  observed, 
and  then  in  reply  to  har  question,  "  Marse  Tom  hev 
got  pow'ful  stiff-jinted  recentelly.  Hit  seems  like 
he'd  ruther  sot  right  still  den  ease  hisse'f  outer  his 
cheer.  Sence  Ole  Miss  Grissel  done  drop  down 
dead  uv  er  political  stroke,  he  ain'  step  'roun'  mo'n 
he  bleeged  ter." 

The  carriage  jolted  through  Kingsborough,  and 
Eugenia  bowed  smilingly  to  her  acquaintances. 
Once  she  stopped  to  shake  hands  with  the  rector 


The  Voice  of  the  People  1 7 1 

and  again  to  kiss  Sally  Burwell,  who  flew  into  her 
arms. 

"  Why,  Eugie !  you — you  beauty !  "  she  cried. 
Eugenia  laughed  delightedly,  her  black  eyes  glow- 
ing. 

"Am  I  good-looking?"  she  asked.  "I'm  so 
glad.  But  I'll  never  be  as  pretty  as  you,  you  dear, 
sweet  thing.     I'm  too  big." 

They  laughed  and  kissed  again,  and  Eugenia 
stepped  from  the  carriage  to  greet  the  judge,  who 
was  passing. 

"  This  is  a  sight  for  sore  eyes,  my  dear,"  said  the 
judge,  his  fine  old  face  wreathed  in  smiles.  Then, 
as  his  gaze  ran  over  her  full,  straight  figure,  "  they 
make  fine  women  these  days,"  he  added.  "  You're 
as  tall  as  your  father — though  you're  your  mother's 
child.     Yes,  I  can  see  Amelia  Tucker  in  your  eyes." 

"  Thank  you — thank  you,"  said  the  girl  in  a 
throaty  voice.  There  was  a  glow,  a  warmth,  a  fer- 
vour in  her  face  which  harmonised  the  chill  black 
and  white  of  her  colouring.  Her  expression  was 
as  a  lamp  to  illumine  the  mask  of  her  features. 

"  I  couldn't  stay  away,"  she  went  on  breathlessly. 
"  I  love  Kingsborough  better  than  the  whole  world." 

"  And  Kingsborough  loves  you,"  returned  the 
judge.  "  Yes,  it  is  a  good  old  town  and  well  worth 
dying  in,  after  all." 

He  assisted  Eugenia  into  the  carriage,  shook 
hands  again,  and  the  lumbering  old  vehicle  jogged 
on  its  way.  In  a  moment  another  halt  was  called, 
and  Mrs.  Webb  came  from  her  gate  to  give  the 
girl  welcome. 

"  This  is  a  surprise,"  she  said  as  she  kissed  her. 


1 72  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  I  dined  at  Battle  Hall  last  week,  and  they  didn't 
tell  me  you  were  coming." 

"  They  didn't  know  it,"  laughed  Eugenia.  "  I 
come  like  a  bolt  from  the  blue." 

Mrs.  Webb  smiled  coldly.  She  was  just  as  the 
girl  had  known  her  in  childhood — only  the  high 
black  pompadour  was  now  white.  She  still  wore 
her  stiff  black  silk  gown,  fastened  at  the  throat  by  a 
Confederate  button  set  in  a  brooch. 

"  You  are  like  yourself  and  no  one  else,"  said 
Eugenia  simply.  "  But  tell  me  of  Dudley — where 
is  he?" 

Mrs.  Webb's  face  softened  slightly. 

"  His  practice  is  in  Richmond  now,"  she  an- 
swered. "  You  know  he  studied  law  and  took  great 
honours  at  college.  But  his  ambitions,  I  fear,  are 
political.  I  don't  like  politics.  They  aren't  for 
honest  men." 

Eugenia  did  not  smile.  She  merely  nodded  as- 
sent and,  saying  good-bye  pleasantly,  jolted  out  of 
Kingsborough  into  the  Old  Stage  Road. 

"  When  did  Mrs.  Webb  dine  at  home,  Sampson?  " 
she  asked  suddenly  after  a  long  silence. 

"  Hit  wa'n'  onc't  en  it  wa'n'  twice,"  said  Samp- 
son thoughtfully.  "  Mo'  like  hit  wuz  tree  times. 
She  done  been  dar  monst'ous  often  dis  yer  winter, 
an'  de  mo'  she  come  de  mo'  'ristocratical  she  'pear 
ter  git.  Dar  wa'n'  no  placin'  her,  nohow.  We 
done  sot  'er  by  Ole  Mis'  Grissel  w'en  she  wuz  'live, 
an'  we  done  sot  'er  by  Miss  Chris,  an'  we  done  sot 
'er  by  Marse  Tom  hisse'f,  an',  fo'  de  Lawd,  I  ain' 
never  seen  'er  congeal  yit." 

But  Eugenia  was  seeking  other  information.     "  Is 


The  Voice  of  the  People  i  ^ 

Uncle  Ish  well  ?  And  Aunt  Verbeny,  and  the  dogs  ? 
and  did  you  bury  Jim  in  the  graveyard  ?  " 

"  Dey's  all  well,"  replied  Sampson,  flicking  at  a 
horsefly  on  the  sorrel's  back,  "  an'  Jim,  he's  well  en 
buried.  Marse  Tom  sot  up  er  boa'd  des'  like  you 
tell  'im." 

A  little  later  they  turned  into  the  cedar  avenue, 
and  Eugenia  could  see  the  large  white  pillars  of 
the  porch. 

"  There  they  are  !  "  she  cried  excitedly,  and  before 
the  carriage  stopped  she  was  up  the  narrow  walk 
and  in  the  general's  arms. 

"  Well,  daughter !  daughter !  "  said  the  general. 
His  eyes  were  watery,  and  when  Eugenia  fell  upon 
Miss  Chris,  he  blew  his  nose  loudly  with  a  nervous 
wave  of  his  silk  handkerchief. 

"  I  was  obliged  to  come,"  explained  Eugenia. 
"  When  I  got  your  letter  saying  I  might,  I  was 
so  happy." 

"  Tom  ! "  murmured  Miss  Chris  reproachfully,  but 
her  eyes  were  shining  and  she  laid  an  affectionate 
hand  on  her  brother's  arm. 

The  general  blushed  like  a  boy. 

"  I  told  her  if  she'd  fully  made  up  her  mind  to 
come,  I'd — I'd  let  her,"  he  stammered  shame- 
facedly. 

"  Oh,  I  was  coming  anyway ! "  announced  Eu- 
genia cheerfully  as  she  was  clasped  upon  the  bosom 
of  Aunt  Verbeny. 

"  Ain't  you  des'  yo'  ma  all  over  ?  "  cried  Aunt 
Verbeny  enthusiastically.  "  Is  you  ever  see  any- 
body so  w'ite  en'  so  black  in  de  same  breff  'cep'n 
Miss  Meeley?     Can't  I  see  her  now  same  ez  'twuz 


1 74  The  Voice  of  the  People 

yestiddy,  stannin'  right  dar  in  dis  yer  hall  en'  sayin', 
'  You  b'longs  ter  me,  Verbeny,  en'  I'se  gwine  ter 
take  cyar  you  de  bes'  I  kin.'  " 

Aunt  Verbeny  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  general 
and  he  quailed. 

"  Don't  I  take  care  of  you,  Aunt  Verbeny  ?  "  he 
asked  appealingly ;  but  Eugenia,  having  greeted  the 
remaining  servants,  drew  him  with  her  into  the 
dining-room.  When  he  sat  down  at  last  to  the 
heavily  laden  table,  he  seemed  to  have  grown  twenty 
years  younger.  As  Eugenia  hung  over  him  with 
domineering  devotion,  the  irritable  expression  faded 
from  his  face  and  he  grew  almost  jovial.  When  she 
weakened  his  coffee,  he  protested  delightedly,  and 
when  she  refused  to  allow  him  his  nightly  dole  of 
preserved  quinces,  he  stormed  with  rapture.  "  She 
wants  to  starve  me,  the  tyrant,"  he  declared.  "  She'll 
take  the  very  bread  from  my  mouth  next." 

Then  his  enthusiasm  overcame  him. 

"  That's  the  finest  girl  in  the  world,  Chris !  God 
bless  her,  her  heart's  as  warm  as  her  eyes.  Why, 
she'd  damn  herself  to  do  a  kindness." 

Miss  Chris  appeared  to  remonstrate. 

"  I  am  surprised,  Tom,"  she  said  disapprovingly, 
though  why  she  was  surprised  or  what  she  was  sur- 
prised at  the  general  never  knew. 

When  Eugenia  went  upstairs  that  night,  she  blew 
out  her  candle  and  undressed  by  the  full  light  of  the 
moon  as  it  shone  through  the  giant  sycamore.  Out- 
side, the  lawn  lay  like  a  sheet  unrolled,  rent  by  sharp 
black  shadows.  All  the  dear,  familiar  objects  were 
draped  by  the  darkness  as  by  a  curtain ;  the  body  of 
the  sycamore  assumed  a  spectral  pallor,  and  the 


The  Voice  of  the  People  1 75 

small  rockery  near  by  was  as  mysterious  as  a  tomb. 
From  the  dusk  beneath  the  window  the  fragrance 
of  the  mimosa  tree  floated  into  the  room. 

Eugenia,  in  her  long,  white  nightgown,  fell  upon 
her  bed  and  slept. 

The  next  day  she  went  the  rounds  of  the  farm. 
"  I'm  coming  back  to  take  you  for  exercise,"  she 
remarked  to  the  general  as  she  stood  before  him  in 
her  sunbonnet. 

The  general,  who  was  placidly  smoking,  groaned 
in  protest. 

"  Then  you'll  kill  me,  Eugie,"  he  urged.  "  Exer- 
cise doesn't  suit  me.     I'm  too  heavy." 

"  You'll  get  lighter,"  returned  Eugenia  reassur- 
ingly. "  You  don't  move  about  half  enough,  but 
I'll  make  you." 

The  general  groaned  again,  and  Miss  Chris,  pink 
and  fresh  in  her  linen  sacque,  came  out  upon  the 
porch. 

"  Bless  the  child !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Where  on 
earth  did  she  lay  hands  on  that  bonnet?  Don't 
stay  out  too  long  in  the  sun,  Eugie,  or  you'll  burn 
black." 

The  general  caught  at  the  straw. 

"  I  wish  you'd  tell  her  she  ought  to  sit  in  the 
house,  Chris.  She  wants  to  drag  me — me  out  in 
that  heat."  But  Eugenia  drew  the  sunbonnet  over 
her  dark  head  and  disappeared  across  the  lawn. 

Having  inspected  the  farmyard  and  the  stables, 
she  crossed  the  ragged  field  to  the  negro  cabins, 
where  she  was  received  with  hilarity, 

"  Ain't  I  al'ays  tell  you  she  uz  de  fines'  lady  in  de 


1 76  The  Voice  of  the  People 

Ian'  ?  "  demanded  Delphy  of  the  retreating  Moses. 
"  Ain't  I  al'ays  tell  you  dar  wa'n't  her  match  in  dese 
yer  parts  or  outer  dem  ?     I  ax  you,  ain't  I  ?  " 

"  Dat's  so,"  admitted  Moses  meekly. 

"Where's  Betsey?"  inquired  Eugenia,  twirling 
her  sunbonnet.  "  Aunt  Verbeny  told  me  the  baby 
died.     I  am  so  sorry." 

"  De  Lawd  He  give,  en'  de  Lawd  He  teck,"  re- 
turned Delphy  piously,  "  en'  He  done  been  moughty 
open-handed  dis  long  time.  He  done  give  er  plum 
sight  mo'n  He  done  teck,  en'  it  ain'  no  use'n  sayin' 
He  ain'. " 

"  So  the  others  are  well  ?  "  ventured  Eugenia,  and 
as  a  bow-legged  crawler  emerged  from  beneath 
the  doorstep  she  added :  "  Is  that  the  youngest  ?  " 

Delphy  snorted. 

"  Dat  ar  brat,  Miss  Euginney  ?  He  ain'  Betsey's, 
nohow.  He's  Rindy's  Lije,  en'  he's  de  mos'  out'n 
out  pesterer  sence  Mose  wuz  born." 

"  Rindy !  "  exclaimed  Eugenia  in  surprise,  lightly 
touching  the  small  black  body  with  her  foot.  "  Why, 
I  didn't  know  Rindy  was  married.  She's  working 
at  the  house  now." 

Delphy  seized  the  child  and  held  him  at  arm's 
length  while  she  applied  a  sounding  box.  "  Go  'way 
f'om  yer,  honey,"  she  said.  "  Rindy  ain'  mah'ed. 
He's  des'  an  accident.  Shet  yo'  mouth,  you  imp  er 
darkness,  fo'  I  shet  hit  fur  you." 

"  Don't  hurt  him,  Delphy,"  pleaded  the  girl. 
"  Rindy  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself,  but  it  isn't 
his  fault.  I'm  going  to  send  him  some  clothes.  He 
looks  fat  enough,  anyhow." 

"  He's  fitten  ter  bus',"  retorted  Delphy  sternly. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  177 

"  He  don't  do  nuttin'  fur  his  livin'  but  eat  all  day, 
en'  den  when  night  come  he  don't  do  nuttin'  but 
holler  kaze  de  time  ter  leave  off  eatin'  done  come. 
He  ain'  no  mo'  use'n  a  weazel." 

Eugenia  promised  to  befriend  the  baby,  and  left 
with  Delphy's  pessimism  ringing  in  her  ears.  "  He 
ain'  wuth  yo'  shoestring,  he  ain',"  called  the  woman 
after  her. 

The  girl  was  as  popular  among  the  negroes  as 
she  had  been  as  a  small  tomboy  in  pinafores.  Her 
impulsive  generosity  and,  above  all,  her  cordial 
kindness,  had  not  abated  with  years.  She  was  as 
ready  to  serve  as  be  served,  her  heart  was  as  open  as 
her  hand ;  and  the  shrewd,  childish  race  received 
her  as  a  benignant  providence.  Her  sweetness  of 
disposition  became  a  proverb.  "  As  sunshiny  ez 
Miss  Euginny,"  said  Aunt  Verbeny  of  a  clear  day — 
and  the  general  raised  her  wages. 

During  the  early  summer  Bernard  came  home  on 
a  vacation.  For  several  years  he  had  held  a  position 
in  a  bank  in  Lynchburg,  and  his  visits  to  Kings- 
borough  took  place  at  uncertain  intervals.  He  was 
a  slight,  insignificant  young  fellow,  with  complacent 
eyes  and  a  beautiful,  girlish  mouth.  His  temper 
was  quicker  than  Eugenia's,  and  he  was  in  continual 
friction  with  the  general,  who  had  grown  absent- 
minded  and  irritable.  He  not  only  forgot  his  own 
opinions  as  soon  as  he  expressed  them,  but,  what  is 
still  more  annoying,  he  was  apt  to  offer  them  as 
some  one's  else  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours. 

"  That  young  Burr's  a  scamp,"  he  remarked  one 
morning  at  breakfast,  "  a  regular  scamp.  Here  he's 
setting  up  as  a  lawyer  under  George  Bassett's  eye, 


1 78  The  Voice  of  the  People 

when  I  happen  to  know  that  Jerry  Pollard  wouldn't 
have  him  in  his  store  if  you  paid  him." 

"  My  dear  Tom,"  breathed  the  placid  voice  of 
Miss  Chris,  "  I'm  quite  sure  you're  mistaken.  Why, 
Judge  Bassett " 

"  Mistaken  !  "  persisted  the  general  angrily.  "  Am 
I  the  man  to  make  a  statement  without  authority? 
I  tell  you  he's  a  scamp,  ma'am — a  regular  scamp ! 
If  you  please  to  doubt  my  word " 

"  That's  rather  rough  on  a  chap,  isn't  it?  "  put  in 
Bernard  indifferently.  "  He  isn't  a  gentleman,  but 
I  shouldn't  call  him  a  scamp." 

''Why  should  you  call  him  anything,  sir?"  de- 
manded the  general.  "  It's  no  business  of  yours, 
is  it?     If  I  choose  to  call  him  a " 

"  Now,  father,"  said  Eugenia,  and  at  her  decisive 
tones  the  general  broke  off  and  turned  upon  her 
round,  inquiring  eyes.  "  Now,  father, you  don't  mean 
one  word  that  you're  saying,  and  you  know  it." 
And  she  proceeded  to  butter  his  cakes. 

The  general  was  suppressed,  and  after  breakfast 
he  got  into  the  carriage  beside  his  daughter  and 
drove  slowly  into  town.  When  he  returned  to  din- 
ner he  met  Miss  Chris  with  triumphant  eyes. 

"  By  the  way,  Chris,  you  were  mistaken  this 
morning  about  that  Burr  boy.  He's  quite  a  decent 
person.  I  don't  see  how  you  got  it  into  your  head 
there  was  something  wrong  about  him." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  responded  Miss  Chris  good- 
humouredly.  She  had  never  uttered  a  harsh  word 
about  anybody  in  her  life,  but  she  was  a  long-suffer- 
ing woman,  and  she  philosophically  accepted  the 
accusation. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  179 

Twenty-four  hours  later  the  general  had  a  passage 
at  arms  with  Bernard. 

"  You  can  watch  the  threshing  this  morning,  my 
boy,"  he  remarked  as  he  sat  down  to  breakfast. 
"  You  won't  go  in  to  town,  I  suppose?  " 

Bernard  shook  his  head. 

"  I  thought  of  riding  in  for  the  mail,"  he  an- 
swered ;  "  there's  a  letter  I'm  looking  for." 

The  general  flushed  and  put  out  a  preliminary 
feeler.  "  How  are  you  going?  "  he  inquired;  "  not 
on  one  of  my  horses,  I  hope  ?  " 

Eugenia  shook  her  head  at  Bernard,  but  he  went 
on  recklessly  : 

"  Why,  yes,  I  thought  I'd  take  the  gray  mare." 

The  general  shook  his  head  until  his  flabby  face 
grew  purple. 

"  The  gray  mare !  "  he  thundered.  "  You  mean 
to  take  out  my  gray  mare,  do  you?  Well,  I'd  like 
to  see  you,  sir.  Not  a  step  does  the  gray  mare  stir 
— not  a  step,  sir." 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  agreed  Bernard  so  quietly  that 
the  general's  rage  increased.  "  Keep  her  in  the 
stables,  for  all  I  care."  And,  having  finished  his 
breakfast,  he  bowed  to  Miss  Chris  and  left  the 
table. 

But  an  hour  later,  as  he  passed  through  the  hall, 
he  found  the  general  waiting.  "  Aren't  you  ready?  " 
he  asked  irascibly.  "  Are  you  going  to  waste  the 
whole  morning?     Why  aren't  you  in  town?  " 

Bernard's  temper  was  well  enough  as  long  as  there 
was  no  reason  it  should  be  better;  but  he  couldn't 
stand  his  father,  and  he  knew  it. 

"  I'm  not  going,"  he  returned  sullenly. 


i  So  The  Voice  of  the   People 

"  Not  going ! "  cried  the  general  hotly,  "not  going 
after  all  the  fuss  you've  raised  ?  What  do  you  mean 
by  changing  your  mind  every  minute  ?  " 

Bernard  took  his  hat  from  the  old  mahogany 
rack.  "  I've  nothing  to  ride,"  he  replied  irritably, 
"  and  I  don't  choose  to  walk — that's  what  I  mean." 

But  his  answer  only  exasperated  his  hovering 
parent. 

"  Damme,  sir,  do  you  want  to  make  me  lose  my 
temper?"  he  demanded.  "Isn't  the  stable  full  of 
horses?  Where's  the  gray  mare,  I'd  like  to  know, 
sir?" 

"  Eugie!  "  called  Bernard  angrily,  "  come  here." 
And  as  the  girl  appeared  he  made  a  break  from  the 
house.  He  possessed  an  abiding  faith  in  the  endur- 
ance of  Eugenia's  clannish  soul  that  was  proof 
against  even  the  suggestion  that  it  might  succumb. 
His  father  was  unquestionably  trying,  but  Eugie 
was  unquestionably  strong,  and  she  loved  her  people 
with  a  passion  which  he  felt  to  be  romantically  un- 
surpassable. Yes,  Eugie  was  the  hope  of  the  family, 
after  all. 

As  for  the  girl,  she  put  her  arm  about  the  general 
and  drew  him  to  his  chair.  He  was  failing  rapidly ; 
this  she  saw  and  suffered  at  seeing.  There  were 
wrinkles  crossing  and  recrossing  his  hanging 
cheeks,  and  swollen  bluish  pockets  beneath  his  eyes. 
When  he  moved  he  carried  his  great  weight  uneasily. 
During  the  day  she  hung  over  him  with  multiplied 
caresses ;  as  he  sat  upon  the  porch  in  the  afternoon 
she  read  to  him  from  the  Bible  and  Shakespeare,  the 
only  books  his  library  contained. 

"  After  God  and  Shakespeare,  what  was  left  for 


The  Voice  of  the  People  181 

any  man  to  write  ?  "  the  general  had  once  demanded 
of  the  judge. 

Now  he  asked  the  question  of  Eugenia,  and  she 
smiled  and  was  silent.  Her  eyes  passed  from  the 
porch  to  the  lawn  and  the  walk  and  the  immemorial 
gloom  of  the  great  cedars.  Sunshine  lay  over  all 
the  warm,  sleepy  land,  and  sunshine  lay  across  her 
white  dress  and  across  the  senile  droop  of  the  gen- 
eral's mouth. 

"  For  He  maketh  sore,  and  bindeth  up,"  read  the 
girl  slowly.  "  He  woundeth  and  His  hands  make 
whole." 

"  He  shall  deliver  thee  in  six  troubles ; — yea,  in 
seven  there  shall  no  evil  touch  thee." 

"  In  famine  He  shall  redeem  thee  from  death  :  and 
in  war  from  the  power  of  the  sword." 

She  stopped  suddenly  and  looked  up,  for  the 
general's  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 


BOOK  III 

WHEN   FIELDS   LIE   FALLOW 


BOOK    III 

WHEN   FIELDS   LIE   FALLOW 

I 

On  an  October  afternoon  Nicholas  Burr  was 
walking  along  the  branch  road  that  led  to  his  father's 
farm.  He  carried  a  well  filled  bag  upon  his  shoul- 
der, the  musty  surface  of  which  betrayed  that  it  con- 
tained freshly  ground  meal,  but,  despite  the  addi- 
tional weight,  his  figure  was  unflinchingly  erect. 
There  was  a  splendid  vigour  in  his  thick-set  frame 
and  in  the  swinging  strides  of  his  hardy  limbs.  His 
face — the  square-jawed,  large-featured  face  of  a  phil- 
osopher or  a  farmer — possessed,  with  its  uncompro- 
mising ugliness,  a  certain  eccentric  power.  Rugged, 
gray,  alert-eyed  as  it  was,  large-browed  and  over- 
hung by  his  waving  red  hair — it  was  a  face  to  attract 
or  to  repel — not  to  be  ignored. 

Now,  as  he  swung  on  vigorously  in  the  October 
light,  there  was  about  him  a  joyousness  of  purpose 
which  belonged  to  his  age  and  his  aspirations.  It 
was  an  atmosphere,  an  emanation  thrown  off  by 
respiring  vitality. 

Across  the  road  the  sunshine  fell  in  long,  level 
shafts.  The  spirit  of  October  was  abroad  in  the 
wood — veiling  itself  in  a  faint,  bluish  haze  like  the 
smoke  of  the  greenwood  when  it  burns.     Overhead, 


1 86  The  Voice  of  the  People 

crimson  and  yellow  ran  riot  among  the  trees,  the 
flame  of  the  maple  extinguishing  the  dull  red  of  the 
oak,  the  clear  gold  of  the  hickory  flashing  through 
the  gloss  of  the  holly.  As  yet  the  leaves  had  not 
begun  to  fall;  they  held  tenaciously  to  the  living 
branches,  fluttering  light  heads  in  the  first  autumn 
chill.  In  the  underbrush,  where  the  deerberry 
showed  hectic  blotches,  a  squirrel  worked  busily, 
completing  its  winter  store,  while  in  the  slanting 
sun  rays  a  tawny  butterfly,  like  a  wind-blown, 
loosened  tiger  lily,  danced  its  last  mad  dance  with 
death. 

To  Nicholas  the  scene  was  without  significance. 
With  a  gesture  he  threw  off  the  spell  of  its  beauty, 
as  he  shifted  the  "  sack  "  of  corn  meal  upon  his 
shoulder.  He  had  found  Uncle  Ish  tottering  home- 
ward with  the  load,  and  he  had  taken  it  from  him 
with  a  careless  promise  to  leave  it  at  the  old  negro's 
cabin  door — then,  passing  him  by  a  stride,  he  had 
gone  on  his  kindly,  confident  way.  He  forgot  Uncle 
Ish  as  readily  as  he  forgot  the  bag  he  carried.  His 
mind  was  busily  reviewing  the  points  of  his  last  case 
and  the  possible  facts  of  a  more  important  one  he 
believed  to  be  coming  to  him.  In  this  connection 
he  went  back  to  his  first  fight  in  the  little  court- 
house, and  he  laughed  with  an  appreciation  of  the 
humour  of  his  success.  It  was  Turner,  after  all,  who 
had  given  it  to  him ;  Turner,  who,  having  bought  a 
horse  that  died  upon  the  journey  home,  wanted  re- 
venge as  well  as  recompense.  He  remembered  his 
perturbation  as  he  rose  to  cross-examine  the  defend- 
ant— the  nervousness  with  which  he  drove  his 
weapons  home.     It  had  all  seemed  so  important  to 


The  Voice  of  the  People  187 

him  then — the  court,  his  client,  the  great,  greasy 
horse  dealer  forced  into  the  witness  stand. 

He  had  proved  his  case  by  the  defendant,  and  he 
had  won  as  well  a  mild  reputation  among  the  far- 
mers who  had  assembled  for  the  day.  Since  then  he 
had  done  well,  and  the  judge's  patronage  had  placed 
much  in  his  hands  that,  otherwise,  would  have  gone 
elsewhere. 

Beyond  the  wood,  the  uncultivated  wasteland 
sported  its  annual  carnival  of  golden  rod  and  su- 
mach, and  across  the  brilliant  plumes  a  round,  red 
sun  hung  suspended  in  a  quiet  sky.  In  the  corn 
field,  where  the  late  crop  was  fast  maturing,  negro 
women  chanted  shrilly  as  they  pulled  the  "  fodder," 
their  high-coloured  kerchiefs  blending,  like  autumn 
foliage,  with  the  landscape.  Around  them  the  de- 
nuded stalks  rose  boldly  row  on  row,  reserving  their 
scarred  and  yellow  husks  for  the  last  harvest  of  the 
year. 

When  Nicholas  reached  his  father's  house  he  did 
not  enter  the  little  whitewashed  gate,  but  kept  on 
to  the  log  cabin  on  the  edge  of  General  Battle's 
land,  where  Uncle  Ish  was  passing  his  declining 
years  in  poverty  and  independence.  The  cabin 
stood  above  a  little  gully  which  skirted  the  dividing 
line  of  the  pastures,  facing,  in  its  primitive  nudity, 
the  level  stretch  of  the  shadowless  highway.  It  was 
a  rotting,  one-room  dwelling,  with  a  wide  doorway 
opening  upon  a  small,  bare  strip  of  ground  where  a 
gnarled  oak  grew.  In  the  rear  there  was  a  small 
garden,  denuded  now  of  its  modest  vegetables,  only 
the  leafy  foliage  of  a  late  pea  crop  retaining  a  sem- 
blance of  fruitfulness. 


1 88  The  Voice  of  the  People 

Nicholas  went  up  the  narrow  path  leading  from 
the  road  to  the  hut,  and  placed  the  bag  on  the 
smooth,  round  stone  which  served  for  a  step.  As  he 
did  so,  the  doorway  abruptly  darkened,  and  a  girl 
came  from  the  interior  and  paused  with  her  foot 
upon  the  threshold.  He  saw,  in  an  upward  glance, 
that  it  was  Eugenia  Battle,  and,  from  the  light 
wicker  basket  on  her  arm,  he  inferred  that,  in  the 
absence  of  Uncle  Ish,  she  had  been  engaged  in  sup- 
plying his  simple  wants.  That  the  old  negro  was 
still  cared  for  by  the  Battles  he  was  aware,  though 
upon  the  means  of  his  livelihood  Uncle  Ish,  himself, 
was  singularly  reticent. 

As  Eugenia  saw  him  she  flushed  slightly,  as  one 
caught  in  a  secret  charity,  and  promptly  pointed  to 
the  bag  of  meal. 

"  Whose  is  that?  " 

He  looked  from  the  girl  to  the  bag  and  back  again, 
his  own  cheek  reddening.  At  the  instant  it  occurred 
to  him  that  it  was  a  peculiar  greeting  after  a  separa- 
tion of  years. 

"  It  belongs  to  Uncle  Ish,"  he  answered,  with  un- 
reasonable embarrassment.  "  I  believe  your  father 
gave  it  to  him." 

"  He  might  have  brought  it  home  for  him,"  was 
her  comment,  and  immediately: 

"  Where  is  he?  " 

"  Uncle  Ish?     He's  on  the  road." 

Her  next  remark  probed  deeper,  and  he  winced. 

"  What  were  you  doing  with  it?  " 

Her  gaze  was  warming  upon  him.  He  met  it  and 
laughed  aloud. 

"  Toting  it,"  he  responded  lightly. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  189 

She  was  still  warming.  He  saw  the  glow  kindle 
in  her  eyes  and  illumine  her  sombre  face;  it  was  like 
the  leaping  of  light  to  the  surface.  As  she  stood 
midway  of  the  entrance,  in  a  frame  of  unpolished 
logs,  her  white  and  black  beauty  against  the  smoky 
gloom  of  the  interior,  the  red  sunset  before  her  feet, 
he  recalled  swiftly  an  allegorical  figure  of  Night  he 
had  once  seen  in  an  old  engraving.  Then,  before 
the  charm  of  her  smile,  the  recollection  passed  as  it 
had  come. 

"  You  may  bring  in  the  bag,"  she  said,  with  the 
authority  of  one  accustomed  to  much  service.  "  I 
found  he  had  very  little  left  to  eat.  We  have  to 
bring  him  things  secretly,  and  he  pretends  the  Lord 
feeds  him  as  He  fed  the  prophet." 

She  reentered  the  hut,  and  Nicholas,  stepping 
lightly  in  the  fear  that  his  weight  might  hasten  the 
fall  of  the  logs,  deposited  the  bag  upon  a  pine  table, 
where  an  ash  cake  lay  ready  for  the  embers.  In  a 
little  cupboard  he  saw  the  contents  of  Eugenia's  bas- 
ket— a  cold  fried  chicken  and  some  coffee  and  sugar. 
Before  the  hearth  there  was  a  comfortable  rocking 
chair,  and  a  bright  coloured  quilt  was  upon  the  bed. 
As  he  turned  away  the  girl  spoke  swiftly : 

"  It  was  good  of  you,"  she  said. 

"  Good  of  me?  "  He  met  her  approbation  almost 
haughtily;  then  he  impulsively  added:  "I  always 
liked  Uncle  Ish — and  he  reminds  me  of  old  times." 

.She  turned  frankly  to  him.  In  the  noble  poise  of 
her  head  she  had  seemed  strangely  far  off;  now  she 
appeared  to  stoop. 

"  Of  our  old  times?  " 

Her  cordial  eyes  arrested  him. 


i  go  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  Of  yours  and  mine,"  he  answered.  "  Do  you 
remember  the  hare  traps  he  set  for  us  and  the  straw- 
mats  he  taught  us  to  plait?  Once  you  said  you  had 
stolen  a  watermelon  to  save  Jake  a  whipping,  and 
he  found  you  out — do  you  remember?  " 

He  pressed  the  recollections  upon  her  eagerly,  al- 
most violently. 

Eugenia  shook  her  head,  half  laughing. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said;  "  but  I  remember  you  carried 
me  home  once  when  I  had  hurt  my  foot,  and  you 
jumped  into  the  ice  pond  to  save  my  kitten,  and " 

"  You  shared  your  lunch  with  me  at  school,"  he 
broke  in. 

"  And  you  dug  me  a  little  garden  all  yourself " 

"  And  you  bought  me  a  Jew's  harp  on  my  birth- 
day  ■" 

"  And  you  always  left  half  the  eggs  in  a  bird's  nest 
because  I  begged  you  to " 

"  And  you  were  an  out  and  out  angel,"  he  con- 
cluded triumphantly. 

"  An  angel,  black-haired  and  a  tomboy?  " 

He  assented.  "  A  little  tyrannical  angel  with  a 
temper." 

Her  confessions  multiplied. 

"  I  scratched  your  face  once." 

"  Yes." 

"  I  got  mad  and  smashed  your  best  hawk's  egg-'' 

"  You  did." 

"  I  threw  your  fishing  line  into  the  brook  when 
you  wouldn't  let  me  fish." 

"  I  have  never  seen  it  since." 

"  I  was  horrid  and  mean." 

"  Such  were  your  angelic  characteristics." 


The  Voice  of  the  People  191 

She  thoughtfully  swung  the  basket  on  her  arm, 
her  white  sleeve  fluttering  above  her  wrist.  Her 
head,  with  its  wave,  from  the  clear  brow,  of  dead- 
black  hair,  was  bent  frankly  towards  him. 

"  It  has  been  so  long  since  I  saw  you,"  she  said 
suddenly,  "  and  when  I  last  saw  you,  you  were  hor- 
rid, not  I." 

He  flushed  quickly. 
/.   "  I  was  a  brute,"  he  admitted. 

"  And  you  hurt  me  so,  I  cried  all  night" 

"  Not  because  you  cared  ?  "  he  asked  breathlessly. 
1  "  Of  course  not — because  I  didn't  care  a — a  rap. 
I  cried  for  the  fun  of  it." 

He  was  sufficiently  abashed. 

"  If  I  had  known "  he  began,  and  stopped. 

"  You  might  have  known!  "  she  flashed  out. 

He  was  at  a  disadvantage,  which  he  admitted  by 
a  blank  regard. 

"  But  things  were  desperate  then,  and " 

"  So  were  you." 

"  Not  as  desperate  as  I  might  have  been." 

In  her  equable  unconsciousness  she  threw  off  the 
meaning  of  his  retort. 

"  But  I  like  desperateness." 

She  had  crossed  the  threshold  and  stood  now  in 
the  ambient  glow,  gazing  across  the  quiet  pasture, 
where  a  stray  sheep  bleated.  She  reached  up  and 
broke  a  bunch  of  red  leaves  from  the  oak,  fastening 
them  in  her  belt  as  they  descended  the  narrow  path. 

In  the  road  they  came  upon  Uncle  Ish,  who  was 
hobbling  slowly  towards  them.  He  was  wrinkled 
with  age  and  bent  with  rheumatism,  and  his  voice 
sounded  cracked  and  querulous. 


192  The  Voice  of  the   People 

"  Is  de  Lawd  done  sont  dem  vittles?  "  he  de- 
manded suspiciously.  "  Ef  He  ain',  I  dunno  how 
I'se  gwine  ter  git  mo'n  a'er  ash  cake  fur  supper. 
'Pears  like  He's  gittin'  monst'ous  ondependible  dese 
yer  las'  days.  I  ain'  lay  eyes  on  er  dish  er  kebbage 
sence  I  lef  dat  ar  patch  on  Hick'ry  Hill,  en  all  de 
blackeye  peas  I'se  done  seen  is  what  I  raise  right 
dar  behint  dat  do'.  Es  long  es  Gord  A'mighty 
ondertecks  ter  feed  you,  He  mought  es  well  feed  you 
ter  yo'  tase." 

"  There  are  some  eggs  in  the  cupboard,"  said  Eu- 
genia seriously.    "  You  must  cook  some  for  supper." 

Uncle  Ish  grunted. 

"  En  egg's  er  wish  washy  creeter  es  ain'  got  ernuff 
tase  er  its  own  ter  stair  alont  widout  salt,"  he  re- 
marked contemptuously;  after  which  he  grew  hos- 
pitable. 

"  Ain'  you  gwine  ter  step  in  es  you'se  passin'?  " 
he  inquired. 

Eugenia  shook  her  head. 

"  Not  to-day,  Uncle  Ish,"  she  responded  cheer- 
fully. "  I  know  you're  tired — and  how  is  your  rheu- 
matism? " 

"  Wuss  en  wuss,"  responded  the  old  negro  gloom- 
ily. "  I'se  done  cyar'ed  one  er  dese  yer  I'sh  taters 
in  my  pocket  twell  hit  sprouted,  en  de  rhematiks 
ain'  never  knowed  'twuz  dar.     Hit's  wuss  en  wuss." 

As  they  passed  on,  he  hobbled  painfully  up  the 
rocky  path,  leaning  heavily  upon  his  stick  and  grunt- 
ing audibly  at  each  rheumatic  twinge. 

Nicholas  and  Eugenia  followed  the  highway  and 
turned  into  the  avenue  of  cedars.  When  the  house 
was  in  sight,  he  stopped  and  held  out  his  hand. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  193 

"  May  I  see  you  sometimes?  "  he  asked  diffidently. 

She  spoke  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  do  come  to  see  us,"  she  said.  "  Papa  would 
enjoy  talking  about  Judge  Bassett.  He  half  wor- 
ships him." 

"  So  do  I." 

She  nodded  sympathetically. 

"  I  know — I  know.  He  is  splendid !  And  you 
are  doing  well,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  work  to  do,  thank  God,  and  I  do  it.  I 
can't  say  how." 

"  What  does  Judge  Bassett  say?  " 

He  laughed  boyishly.     "  He  says  silence." 

She  was  puzzled. 

"  I  don't  understand — but  I  must  go — I  really 
must.     It  is  quite  dark." 

And  she  passed  from  him  into  the  box-bordered 
walk.  He  watched  her  tall  figure  until  it  ascended 
the  stone  steps  and  paused  upon  the  porch,  whence 
came  the  sound  of  voices.  Through  the  wide  open 
doors  he  could  see  the  swinging  lamp  in  the  centre 
of  the  great  hall  and  the  broad  stairway  leading  to 
the  floor  above.  For  a  moment  he  stood  motion- 
less; then,  turning  back  into  the  avenue,  he  retraced 
his  steps  to  his  father's  house. 

In  the  kitchen,  where  the  table  was  laid  for  supper, 
his  half-sister,  Nannie,  was  sewing  on  her  wed- 
ding clothes.  She  was  to  be  married  in  the  fulness 
of  the  winter  to  young^Nat  Turner^one  of  the  Tur- 
ners of  Nicholas's  boyhood.  By  the  light  of  the 
kerosene  lamp  she  looked  wonderfully  fair  and  fresh, 
her  auburn  curls  hanging  heavily  against  her  cheek 
as  she  bent  over  the  cambric  in  her  lap. 

13 


194  The  Voice  of  the  People 

As  Nicholas  entered  she  looked  up  brightly,  ex- 
claiming: "  Oh,  it's  you!  "  in  disappointed  accents. 

Nicholas  looked  about  the  kitchen  inquiringly. 

"  Where's  ma  ?  "  he  asked,  and  at  the  instant 
Marthy  Burr  appeared  in  the  doorway,  a  pat  of 
butter  in  her  hand. 

"  Air  you  home,  Nick?  "  was  her  greeting,  as  she 
placed  the  butter  upon  the  table.  Then  she  went 
across  to  Nannie  and  examined  the  hem  on  the 
cambric  ruffle. 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  might  have  done  them 
stitches  a  little  finer,"  she  observed  critically.  "  Old 
Mrs.  Turner's  got  powerful  sharp  eyes  for  stitches, 
an'  she's  goin'  to  look  mighty  hard  at  yours.  If 
thar's  one  stitch  shorter'n  another,  it's  goin'  to  stand 
out  plainer  than  all  the  rest.  It's  the  nater  of  a 
woman  to  be  far-sighted  at  seeing  the  flaws  in  her 
son's  wife,  an'  old  Mrs.  Turner  ain't  no  better'n  God 
made  her,  if  she  ain't  no  worse.  'Tain't  my  way  to 
be  wishin'  harm  to  folks,  but  I  al'ays  said  the  only 
thing  to  Amos  Burr's  credit  I  ever  heerd  of  is  that 
he's  an  orphan — which  he  ain't  responsible  for." 

"  But  the  sewing's  all  right,"  returned  Nannie  in 
wounded  pride.  "  Nat  ain't  marrying  me  for  my 
sewing,  anyway." 

Her  mother  shook  her  head. 

"  What  a  man  marries  for's  hard  to  tell,"  she  re- 
turned; "  an'  what  a  woman  marries  for's  past  find- 
in'  out.  I  ain't  never  seen  an  old  maid  yet  that  ain't 
had  a  mighty  good  opinion  of  men — an'  I  ain't  never 
seen  a  married  woman  that  ain't  had  a  feelin'  that 
a  few  improvements  wouldn't  be  out  of  place.  I 
don't  want  to  turn  you  agin  Nat  Turner — he's  a  man 


The  Voice  ot  the  People  195 

an'  he's  got  a  mother,  an'  that's  all  I've  got  agin  him. 
No  talkin's  goin'  to  turn  anybody  that's  got  their 
mind  set  on  marryin',  any  more  than  it's  goin'  to 
turn  anybody  that's  got  their  mind  set  on  drink. 
So  I  ain't  goin'  to  open  my  mouth." 

Here  Amos  Burr  appeared,  and  as  he  seated  him- 
self beside  Nannie  she  drew  her  ruffles  away. 
"  You're  so  dusty,  pa,"  she  exclaimed  half  pettishly. 

He  fixed  his  heavy,  admiring  eyes  upon  her,  re- 
ceiving the  reproof  as  meekly  as  he  received  all 
feminine  utterances.  He  might  bully  a  man,  but  he 
would  always  be  bullied  by  a  woman. 

"  I  reckon  you're  pretty  near  ready,"  he  observed 
cheerfully,  rubbing  his  great  hairy  hands.  "  You've 
got  'most  a  trunk  full  of  finery.  I  reckon  Turner'll 
know  I  ain't  in  the  poorhouse  yet — or  near  it." 

It  was  a  speech  of  unusual  length,  and,  after  mak- 
ing it,  he  slowly  settled  into  silence. 

"  Nat  wouldn't  mind  if  I  was  in  the  poorhouse,  so 
long  as  he  could  get  me  out,"  said  his  daughter,  tak- 
ing up  the  cudgels  in  defence  of  her  lover's  dis- 
interestedness. 

Amos  Burr  chuckled. 

"  Don't  you  set  no  store  by  that,"  he  rejoined. 

"  An'  don't  you  set  about  judgin'  other  folks  by 
yourself,  Amos  Burr,"  retorted  his  wife  sharply. 
"  'Tain't  likely  you'd  ever  pull  anybody  out  o'  the 
poorhouse  'thout  slippin'  in  yourself,  seein'  as  I've 
slaved  goin'  on  twenty  years  to  keep  you  from  land- 
in'  thar  at  last.  The  less  you  say  about  some  things 
the  better.  Now,  you'd  jest  as  well  set  down  an' 
eat  your  supper." 


II 


The  next  day  Nicholas  went  into  Tom  Bassett's 
office,  where  he  met  Dudley  Webb,  who  was  spend- 
ing a  dutiful  week  in  Kingsborough.  He  was  a 
genial  young  fellow,  with  a  clear-cut,  cleanly  shaven 
face  and  a  handsome  head  covered  with  rich,  dark 
hair.  His  hands  were  smooth  and  white,  and  he 
gesticulated  rapidly  as  he  talked.  It  was  already 
said  of  him  that  he  told  a  poor  story  better  than  any- 
body else  told  a  good  one — a  fact  which  was  prob- 
ably the  elemental  feature  of  his  popularity. 

As  Nicholas  looked  in,  he  raised  himself  lightly 
from  Tom's  desk  chair  and  gave  him  a  hearty 
handshake. 

"  Hello,  Burr!  We  were  just  talking  of  you.  I 
was  telling  Tom  a  jolly  thing  I  heard  yesterday. 
Two  farmers  were  discussing  you  at  the  post-office, 
and  one  of  them  said:  '  'Tain't  that  he's  got  so  much 
sense — I  had  a  sight  more  at  his  age — but  he's  so 
blamed  sure  of  himself,  he  makes  you  believe  in  him.' 
How's  that  for  fame  ?  " 

"  Not  so  bad  as  it  is  for  me,"  returned  Nicholas 
with  a  laugh.  "  If  you  win  one  or  two  small  cases, 
there's  obliged  to  be  undue  influence  of  the  devil." 

"  Which,  occasionally,  it  is,"  added  Tom  seriously. 

Dudley  threw  himself  back  into  his  chair  and 
crossed  his  shapely  legs.  For  a  moment  he  smoked 
in  silence,  then  he  removed  his  cigar  from  his  mouth 
and  flecked  the  ashes  upon  the  uncarpeted  floor. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  197 

"  Oh  !  the  mystery  to  me  is,"  he  said,  "  that 
you  exist  down  here  and  live  to  tell  the  tale — or  at 
least  that  you  earn  enough  crumbs  to  feed  the 
crows." 

"  Kingsborough  crows  aren't  high  livers,"  re- 
marked Nicholas  as  he  threw  himself  into  the  re- 
maining chair. 

Dudley  laughed  softly — a  humorous  laugh  that 
fell  pleasantly  on  the  ear. 

"  That  reminds  me,"  he  began  whimsically.  "  I 
met  a  tourist  with  spectacles  walking  along  Duke  of 
Gloucester  Street.  '  Sir,'  he  said  courteously, '  I  am 
looking  for  Kingsborough.  I  am  told  that  it  is  a 
city.'  '  Sir,'  I  responded,  with  a  bow  that  did  honour  j 
to  my  grandfather's  ghost,  '  it  was  once  a  chartered  J 
city ;  it  is  now  only  a  charter.'  "  -' 

Then  he  turned  to  Tom. 

"  We  haven't  got  used  to  the  railroad  yet,  have 
we?  "  he  asked. 

Tom  shook  his  head. 

"  General  Battle's  still  protesting,"  he  replied. 
"  He  swears  it  makes  Kingsborough  common." 

Dudley  thoughtfully  examined  his  cigar,  an 
amused  smile  about  his  mouth. 

"  My  mother  doesn't  want  the  cows  turned  out 
of  the  churchyard,"  he  observed,  "  because  it  would 
abolish  one  of  Kingsborough's  characteristics.  She's 
right,  too,  by  Jove." 

"  They're  having  a  fight  over  it  now,"  put  in 
Nicholas  with  the  gravity  he  rarely  lost.  "  The 
people  who  own  cows  call  it  an  '  ancient  right.'  The 
people  who  don't,  call  it  sacrilege.  The  rector 
leads  one  faction,  and  the  congregation  has  split." 


lgS  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  And  split  we  smash,"  added  Dudley.  "  Well, 
these  are  exciting  times  in  Kingsborough's  history ; 
it  is  almost  as  lively  as  Richmond.  There  we  had  a 
religious  convention  and  an  elopement  last  week. 
I  don't  suppose  you  come  up  to  that?" 

Nicholas  ran  his  hand  through  his  hair  with  a 
habitual  gesture.  He  was  idly  watching  the  light 
of  Dudley's  cigar  and  noting  the  quality  by  the 
aroma.  He  could  not  afford  cigars  himself,  and  he 
wondered  how  Dudley  managed  to  do  so. 

"  We  are  a  people  without  a  present,"  he  returned 
inattentively.  "  You've  heard,  I  take  it,  that  an  old 
elm  has  gone  near  the  court-house." 

"  My  mother  told  me.  I  believe  she  knows  every 
brick  that  used  to  be  and  is  not.  I'm  trying  to  get 
her  away  with  me,  but  she  won't  come." 

"  Sally  Burwell  was  telling  me,"  said  Tom,  a 
dawning  interest  in  his  face,  "  she  had  tried  to  per- 
suade her." 

"  Yes,  we  tried  and  failed.  By  the  way,  is  it  true 
that  Sally's  engaged  to  Jack  Wyth?  I  hear  it  at 
every  turn." 

"  I — I  shouldn't  be  surprised,"  gasped  Tom  pain- 
fully. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  protested  Nicholas. 

"  He  isn't  much  good,  eh  ?  " 

"  Why,  he's  a  brick,"  said  Nicholas. 

"  He's  a  cad,"  said  Tom. 

Dudley  laughed  and  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  in 
the  air. 

"  Well,  she's  a  daisy  herself,  and  as  good  as  gold. 
She's  the  kind  of  woman  to  flirt  herself  hoarse  and 
then  settle  down  into  dove-like  domesticity.     But 


The  Voice  of  the  People  199 

what  about  Eugie  ?  Is  she  really  grown  up  ?  My 
mother  declares  she's  splendid." 

Nicholas  was  silent. 

"  Oh,  she's  handsome  enough,"  Tom  carelessly 
replied. 

"But  not  like  Sally,  eh?" 

"  Oh,  no !  not  like  Sally." 

Dudley  tossed  the  stump  of  his  cigar  through  the 
open  window,  lit  a  cigarette,  and  changed  the  sub- 
ject. He  talked  easily,  relating  several  laughable 
stories,  referring  occasionally  to  himself  and  his 
success,  illustrating  his  remarks  by  his  experience 
at  the  bar,  giving  finally  the  exclamation  of  a  fellow- 
lawyer  at  the  close  of  an  argument  he  had  made: 
"  You  may  be  a  muff  of  a  jurist,  Webb,"  he  had 
cried,  "  but,  by  George !  you're  a  devil  of  an  advo- 
cate !  " 

He  was",  withal,  so  affable,  so  confident,  so  thor- 
oughly a  good  fellow,  that  an  hour  passed  before 
Nicholas  remembered  he  had  looked  in  only  for  a 
moment. 

When  he  rose  to  go,  Dudley  gripped  his  hand 
again,  slapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  declared  him 
to  be  a  "  first-rate  old  chap,"  and  ended  by  pressing 
him  to  drop  in  on  him  when  he  ran  up  to  Richmond. 

Nicholas  gave  back  the  friendly  grasp  and  pledged 
himself  to  the  "  dropping  in."  He  resistingly  suc- 
cumbed before  the  inherent  jovial  charm. 

The  afternoon  being  Saturday,  he  left  town  earlier 
than  usual  and  spent  a  couple  of  hours  with  his 
father  in  the  fields.  The  peanuts  were  being  har- 
vested. Amos  Burr,  with  a  peanut  "  share "  at- 
tached to  the  plough,  was  separating  the  yellowed 


\ 


- 

2od  The  Voice  of  the  People 

plants  from  the  ripe  nuts  underground,  and  Nicho- 
las, lifting  the  roots  upon  a  pitchfork,  shook  them 
free  from  earth  and  threw  them  over  the  pointed 
staves  which  were  the  final  supports  of  the  "  shocks." 
A  negro  hand  went  before  him,  driving  the  sticks 
into  the  sandy  soil. 

"  I  should  say  you  might  count  on  forty  bushels 
an  acre,"  remarked  Nicholas  cheerfully,  as  he  lifted 
a  detached  root  from  a  broken  hill.  "  It's  a  fair 
yield,  isn't  it?" 

Amos  Burr  shook  his  head  and  muttered  that 
there  was  "  no  tellin'.  Peanuts  air  one  of  the 
things  thar's  no  countin'  on,"  he  added.  "  Wheat 
air  another,  corn  air  another,  oats  air  another." 

"  Life  is  another,"  concluded  Nicholas  lightly. 
"  Still  we  live  and  still  we  raise  wheat  and  oats  and 
corn.  But  I  wish  you'd  look  into  market  garden- 
ing.    I  believe  it  would  pay  you  better." 

"  'Tain't  no  use,"  returned  Amos,  with  his  accus- 
tomed pessimism.  "  'Tain't  no  use  my  plantin'  as 
long  as  the  government  ain't  goin'  to  move,  nohow. 
It's  been  promisin'  to  help  the  farmer  ever  since  the 
war,  an'  it  ain't  done  nothin'  for  him  yet  but  tax 
him." 

But  Nicholas,  to  avoid  his  father's  political  drift, 
fell  to  talking  with  one  of  the  negro  workers. 

Several  hours  later,  when  he  had  changed  his 
farm  clothes,  he  joined  Eugenia  in  the  pasture  and 
walked  with  her  to  Battle  Hall,  where  the  general 
received  him  with  ready,  if  condescending,  hospital- 
ity. Eugenia  had  instructed  her  family  upon  the 
changed  conditions  of  Nicholas's  social  standing, 
but  her  logic  was  powerless  to  convince  her  father 


The  Voice  of  the  People  201 

that  Amos  Burr's  son  was  any  better  than  Amos 
Burr  had  been  before  him. 

"  Pish  !  Pish  !  "  he  exclaimed  testily,  "  the  boy's 
not  a  lawyer — only  gentlemen  belong  to  the  bar, 
but  there's  nobody  too  high  or  too  low  to  be  a 
farmer.  Polite  to  him  ?  Did  you  ever  see  me 
impolite  in  my  own  house  even  to  a  chimney 
sweep?  " 

"  I  never  saw  a  chimney  sweep  in  your  own 
house,"  Eugenia  retorted,  whereupon  he  pinched 
her  cheek  and  accused  her  of  "  making  fun  of  her 
old  father." 

Now,  when  Nicholas  sat  down  on  one  of  the  long 
green  benches  on  the  porch,  the  general  conversed 
with  him  as  he  conversed  with  the  chicken  sellers 
who  came  of  an  afternoon  to  receive  payment  for 
their  luckless  fowls. 

"  This'll  be  a  busy  season  for  you,"  he  observed 
cheerfully,  in  the  slightly  elevated  voice  in  which  he 
addressed  his  inferiors.  "  You'll  be  cutting  your 
corn  before  long  and  seeding  your  winter  crops. 
What  are  you  planting  this  fall  ?  " 

He  could  not  be  induced  to  engage  upon  social 
topics  with  the  young  man  or  to  allude  in  the  most 
distant  manner  to  his  legal  profession.  He  was 
a  Burr,  and  a  Burr  was  a  small  farmer,  nothing 
more. 

"  We're  ploughing  for  oats  now,  sir,"  responded 
Nicholas  diffidently,  "  and  we're  going  to  seed  a 
little  rye  with  clover — if  the  clover's  killed,  the  rye'll 
last." 

"  I  should  advise  you  to  look  after  the  land,"  said 
the  general,  stuffing  the  tobacco  into  the  bowl  of  his 


202  The  Voice  of  the  People 

pipe  and  pressing  it  down  with  his  fat  thumb. 
"  What  you  need  is  to  plant  it  in  cow-peas  and  turn 
them  down.  There's  nothing  like  them  for  fer- 
tilising." 

Nicholas,  who  was  listening  attentively,  rose  to 
shake  hands  with  Miss  Chris  who  appeared  in  the 
doorway. 

"  The  fall  comes  earlier  than  it  used  to,"  she  re- 
marked, drawing  a  light  crocheted  shawl  about  her 
shoulders.  "  Why,  I  remember  when  it  used  to  be 
summer  up  to  the  middle  of  November.  I  was  talk- 
ing to  Judge  Bassett  about  it  yesterday,  and  he  said 
he  certainly  thought  the  seasons  had  changed  since 
he  was  a  boy." 

"  I  don't  reckon  your  father  has  much  opinion  of 
fertilisers,"  broke  in  the  general,  reverting  to  his 
pleasant  patronage. 

Nicholas  answered  before  Eugenia  could  inter- 
pose. "  No,  sir,  he  doesn't  believe  in  them  much," 
he  replied. 

"  Well,  you  tell  him  it's  lime  he  needs,"  continued 
the  general.  "  The  most  successful  peanut  grower 
I  ever  knew  put  about  a  thousand  pounds  of  lime  to 
an  acre,  and  he  cleared " 

"  Have  you  seen  Dudley  Webb?  "  asked  Eugenia, 
shaking  her  head  at  the  general's  frown. 

"  For  an  hour  this  morning.  He  was  in  Tom 
Bassett's  office.     He  told  some  good  stories." 

Miss  Chris  heaved  a  reminiscent  sigh. 

"  That's  poor  Julius  Webb  all  over  again,"  she 
said.  "  He  could  keep  a  dinner  table  laughing  for 
two  hours  and  fight  a  duel  at  daybreak.  I  remem- 
ber at  his  own  wedding,  when  they  drank  his  health, 


The  Voice  of  the  People  203 

he  told  such  a  funny  story  that  old  Judge  Blither- 
stone,  who  was  upwards  of  eighty,  had  to  have  cold 
bandages  put  to  his  head." 

The  general  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth. 
"  Dudley's  a  fine  young  fellow,"  he  said.  "  I  saw 
him  yesterday  when  I  went  to  the  post-office.  They 
tell  me  he's  making  a  name  for  himself  in  Rich- 
mond." 

Eugenia  laughed  lightly. 

"  Papa  adores  Mrs.  Webb,  so  he  thinks  Dudley 
splendid,"  she  said. 

"  That  lady  is  one  of  the  noblest  of  her  sex," 
loyally  asserted  the  general. 

"  And  one  of  the  most  trying  of  either  sex,"  added 
his  daughter.  "  When  I  came  home  my  last  holi- 
day, she  asked  me  what  I  learned  at  school,  and  I 
danced  a  skirt  dance  for  her." 

"  I  always  told  you  you  spoiled  Eugie  to  death, 
Tom,"  said  Miss  Chris  in  justification  of  her  own 
responsibility.  "  In  my  day  no  young  lady  knew 
what  a  skirt  dance  was." 

"  But  that's  what  I  learned  at  school,"  protested 
Eugenia. 

The  general,  feeling  that  the  conversation  ex- 
cluded Nicholas,  renewed  his  attack. 

"What  do  you  think  of  raising  garden  products ?" 
he  inquired  affably.  Then  Eugenia  rose,  and  he 
submissively  retired. 

"  We  aren't  going  to  talk  farming  any  more,"  said 
the  girl.  "  Nick  and  I  are  going  into  the  garden 
for  roses,"  and  she  descended  the  steps,  followed 
by  Nicholas,  who  was  beginning  for  the  first  time 
to  breathe  freely. 


204  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  Tell  your  father  to  look  into  the  truck-growing," 
was  the  general's  parting  shot. 

The  garden  was  flushed  with  the  riot  of  autumn. 
Over  the  little  whitewashed  fence  double  rows  of 
hollyhocks  and  sunflowers  nodded  their  heavy 
heads,  and  bordering  the  narrow  walk  were  lines  of 
chrysanthemums  and  dahlias.  October  roses,  the 
richest  of  the  year,  bloomed  and  dropped  in  the 
quaint  old  squares  where  the  long  vegetable  rows 
began.  At  the  end  of  the  straight,  overgrown  walk 
the  hop  vines  on  the  fence  threw  out  a  pungent 
odour. 

"  Papa  wants  to  have  the  garden  ploughed,"  said 
Eugenia.  "  He  says  it  takes  too  much  time  to  hoe 
it.     Give  me  your  knife,  please." 

He  opened  the  blade,  and  she  stooped  to  cut  off  a 
crimson  dahlia  while  the  Indian  summer  sunshine 
slanted  from  the  west  upon  her  dark  head  and  white 
dress.  Over  all  was  the  faint  violet  haze  of  the 
season,  hanging  above  the  gay  old  garden  like  a  deli- 
cate effluvium  from  autumns  long  decayed. 

"  There  aren't  many  old-time  gardens  left,"  said 
Nicholas  regretfully,  "  but  I  like  this  one  best  of  all. 
I  always  think  of  you  in  the  midst  of  it." 

"  Yes,  we  used  to  gather  calacanthus  blossoms 
and  trade  them  for  taffy  at  school.  The  bushes 
are  almost  all  dead  now.  That  is  the  only  one 
left." 

She  laid  the  knife  upon  the  grass  and  raised  her 
arms  to  fasten  a  yellow  chrysanthemum  in  her  hair. 
As  it  lay  against  her  ear  it  cast  a  clear,  golden  light 
upon  her  cheek,  as  warm  as  the  late  sunshine. 

"  Flowers  suit  you,"  he  said. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  205 

"  Do  they?  "  she  smiled  in  a  quick,  pleased  way. 
"  Is  it  because  I  love  them  ?  " 

"  It  is  because  you  are  beautiful,"  he  answered 
bluntly. 

Some  one  had  once  called  Eugenia's  besetting 
vanity  the  love  of  giving  pleasure ;  it  was,  perhaps, 
in  reality,  the  pleasure  of  being  loved.  It  was  not 
the  fact  that  she  might  be  beautiful  that  now  warmed 
her  so  gratefully,  but  the  evidence  that  Nicholas  was 
good  enough  to  consider  her  so. 

"  You  have  seen  so  few  girls,"  she  remarked  rea- 
sonably enough. 

"  I  may  see  many,  but  it  won't  alter  my  view  of 
you." 

"  How  can  you  tell  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head  impatiently. 

"  I  shan't  tell.     I  shall  prove  it." 

"  And  when  you  have  proved  it  where  shall  I  be  ? 
— old  and  toothless  ?  " 

"  May  be— but  still  beautiful." 

There  was  a  glow  in  her  face,  but  she  did  not  reply. 
His  eyes  and  the  last,  long  ray  of  sunshine  were 
upon  her.  He  was  revoking  from  an  old  October 
a  dark-haired,  clear-eyed  girl  amid  the  dahlias,  and 
it  seemed  to  him  that  Eugenia  had  shot  up  in  a  sea- 
son like  one  of  the  stately  flowers.  As  she  stood  in 
the  grass-grown  walk,  her  skirt  half-filled  with  blos- 
soms, her  white  hands  lifting  the  thin  folds  above 
her  ruffled  petticoat,  she  appeared  to  be  the  vital 
apparition  of  the  place — a  harbinger  of  the  vivid 
sunlight  and  the  dark  shadows  of  the  passing  of  the 
year. 

"  See  how  many ! "  she  exclaimed,  holding  her 


206  The  Voice  ot  the  People 

lapful  towards  him.  "  You  may  take  your  choice — 
only  not  that  last  pink  papa  loves." 

He  plunged  his  hands  amid  the  confusion  of  col- 
ours and  drew  out  a  yellow  chrysanthemum. 

"  I  like  this,"  he  said  simply. 

She  laughed.  "  But  it  doesn't  suit  your  hair," 
she  suggested. 

He  met  her  sally  gravely. 

"  It  is  my  favourite  flower,"  he  returned. 

"  Since  when,  pray  ?  " 

"  Since — since  a  half-hour  ago." 

He  stooped  and  picked  up  his  knife  from  the 
grass. 

"  Are  you  going  away  ?  "  he  asked,  "  or  shall  you 
stay  here  always?" 

"  Always,"  she  promptly  returned.  "  I'm  going 
to  live  here  with  this  old  garden  until  I  grow  to  be 
an  ancient  dame — and  you  may  walk  over  on 
autumn  afternoons  and  I'll  be  sympathetic  aoout 
your  rheumatism.  Isn't  that  a  picture  that  delights 
your  soul  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said  bluntly ;  "  I  see  a  better  one." 

"  Tell  me." 

"  I  can  never  tell  you,"  he  replied  gravely — "  not 
even  when  you  are  an  ancient  dame  and  I  rheu- 
matic." 

She  was  merry  again. 

"  Then  I  fear  it's  wicked,"  she  said,  "  and  I'm 
amazed  at  you.  But  my  day-dreams  are  all  com- 
mon ones.  I  ask  only  the  country  and  my  home 
and  horses  and  cows  and  chickens — and  a  rheumatic 
friend.     You  see  I  must  be  happy,  I  ask  so  little." 

"  And  you  argue  that  he  who  demands  little  gets 


The  Voice  of  the  People  207 

it,"  he  returned  lightly.  "  On  the  other  hand,  I 
should  say  that  he  who  is  content  with  less  gets 
nothing.  I  ask  the  biggest  thing  Fate  has  to  give, 
and  then  stand  waiting  for " 

He  paused  for  a  breathless  instant  while  he  looked 
at  her,  and  then  slowly  finished : 

"  For  the  skies  to  fall." 

They  swung  open  the  gate  into  cattle  lane,  and 
stood  waiting  while  the  cows  trooped  by  to  the  barn- 
yard. 

Eugenia  called  them  by  name,  and  they  turned 
great  stupid  eyes  upon  her  as  they  stopped  to  munch 
the  hollyhocks. 

"  She  was  named  after  you,"  said  the  girl  sud- 
denly. 

"  She  ?  Who  ?  "  he  turned  a  helpless  look  upon 
the  two  small  negroes  who  drove  the  cows. 

"  Why,  Burr  Bess,  of  course — that  Jersey  there. 
You  know  we  couldn't  name  her  Nick  because  she 
wasn't  a  boy,  so  Bernard  called  her  Burr  Bess.  You 
don't  seem  pleased." 

"  She's  a  fine  cow,"  observed  Nicholas  critically. 

"  Oh !  she  was  the  most  beautiful  calf !  I  thought 
you  remembered  it.  One  was  named  after  me,  but 
it  died,  and  one  was  named  after  Bernard,  but  it 
went  to  the  butcher.  Bernard  was  so  angry  about 
it  that  he  waylaid  the  cart  on  the  road  and  let  it  out. 
But  they  caught  it  again.  It  was  too  bad,  wasn't 
it?" 

The  garden  gate  closed  behind  them  with  a  click, 
and  they  crossed  the  lane  to  the  lawn. 

Miss  Chris,  who  stood  shading  her  eyes  in  the 
back  porch,  was  giving  directions  to  Aunt  Verbeny 


208  The  Voice  of  the  People 

in  the  smoke-house.  When  she  saw  Nicholas  she 
broke  off  and  asked  him  to  stay  to  supper,  but  he 
declined  hastily,  and,  with  an  embarrassed  good- 
evening,  turned  back  into  the  lane.  The  hollyhocks 
over  the  whitewashed  fence  brushed  him  as  he 
passed,  and  the  spices  of  the  garden  came  to  him  like 
the  essence  of  the  eternal  Romance. 


Ill 


Over  all  hung  Indian  summer  and  the  happy  sun- 
shine. Eugenia,  rising  at  daybreak  for  a  gallop 
across  country,  would  feel  the  dew  in  her  face  and 
the  autumn  in  her  blood.  As  she  dashed  over  fences 
and  ditches  to  the  unploughed  pasture,  the  morning 
was  as  desolate  as  midnight — not  a  soul  showed  in 
the  surrounding  fields  and  the  long  road  lay  as  pallid 
as  a  streak  of  frost.  The  loneliness  and  the  hour 
set  her  eyes  to  dancing  and  the  glad  blood  to  bound- 
ing in  her  veins.  When  a  startled  rabbit  shied  from 
the  brushwood  she  would  slacken  her  speed  to  watch 
it,  and  when,  as  sometimes  chanced,  she  frightened 
a  covey  of  partridges  from  their  retreat,  she  went 
softly,  rejoicing  that  no  shot  was  near. 

At  this  time  she  was  possessed,  perhaps,  of  a  spirit 
too  elastic,  of  a  buoyance  almost  insolent — she 
turned,  as  it  were,  too  round  a  cheek  to  Fate.  In 
her  clear  purity  romanticism  held  no  part,  and  her 
soul,  strong  to  adhere,  was  slow  to  conform.  Her 
nature  was  straight  as  an  arrow  that  would  not  fall 
though  it  overshot  the  mark.  She  dreamed  scant 
dreams  of  the  future  because  she  clove  tenaciously 
to  the  past — to  the  rare  associations  and  the  old 
affections — to  the  road  and  the  cedars  and  the  Hall 
as  to  the  men  and  women  whose  blcod  she  bore  and 
whose  likeness  she  carried.  She  loved  one  and  all 
with  a  fidelity  that  did  not  swerve.     Riding  home 

14 


210  The  Voice  of  the  People 

along  the  open  road  that  led  to  the  cedars,  she 
marked  each  friendly  object  in  its  turn — on  one  side 
the  persimmon  tree  where  the  fruit  ripened — on  the 
other  the  blackened  wreck  of  the  giant  oak,  towering 
above  the  shining  spread  of  life-everlasting.  She 
noted  that  the  rail  fence  skirting  the  pasture  sagged 
at  one  corner  beneath  a  weight  of  poisonous  oak, 
that  a  mud  hole  had  eaten  through  the  short  strip 
of  "  corduroy  "  road,  and  that  where  Uncle  Ish's 
path  led  to  his  cabin  the  plank  across  the  gully  was 
rapidly  rotting.  She  saw  these  things  with  the  ten- 
der eyes  with  which  we  mark  decay  in  one  beloved. 

Then,  pacing  up  the  avenue  to  the  gravelled  walk, 
she  would  call  "  good-morning  "  to  the  general  and 
leap  lightly  to  the  ground,  fresh  as  the  day,  bright 
as  the  autumn. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  early  rides  that  she  saw 
Nicholas  again.  She  was  returning  leisurely 
through  the  stretch  of  woodland,  when,  catching 
sight  of  him  as  he  swung  vigorously  ahead,  she 
quickened  her  horse's  pace  and  overtook  him  as  he 
glanced  inquiringly  back. 

"  Divide  the  worm,  early  bird,"  she  cried  gaily. 

He  paused  as  she  did,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
horse's  neck. 

"  There  wasn't  but  one  and  you  got  it,"  he  re- 
torted lightly.     "  Have  you  been  far?  " 

"  Miles,  and  I'm  as  hungry  as  two  bears.  Have 
you  anything  in  your  pocket?  " 

Her  glowing  face  rose  against  a  background  of 
maple  boughs,  which  surrounded  her  like  a  flame. 
The  mist  of  the  morning  was  on  her  lips  and  her  eyes 
were  shining.     He  felt  her  beauty  leap  like  wine  to 


The  Voice  of  the  People  2 1 1 

his  brain,  and  he  set  his  teeth  and  looked  blankly- 
down  the  road. 

She  laughed  as  she  plunged  her  hand  into  the 
pocket  of  his  coat.  "  You  used  to  have  apples," 
she  complained,  "  or  honeyshucks,  at  least — now 
there's  only  this." 

It  was  a  worn  little  Latin  text  book,  with  frayed 
edges  and  soiled  leaves. 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  he  said  quickly,  but  as  he  reached 
to  take  it  from  her  the  leaves  fell  open  and  she  saw 
her  own  name  written  and  rewritten  across  the 
crumpled  pages. 

She  closed  it  and  gave  it  back  to  him. 

"  You  used  that  long  ago,"  she  remarked  care- 
lessly; "  very  long  ago." 

He  replaced  the  book  in  his  pocket,  his  steady 
eyes  upon  her. 

"  That's  what  we  get  for  rifling  our  neighbour's 
pockets,"  he  said  quietly,  "  and  what  we  deserve." 

"  No,"  she  returned  with  equal  gravity,  "  some- 
times we  get  apples — or  even  peanuts,  which  we 
don't  deserve." 

He  took  no  notice  of  the  retort,  but  answered  half- 
absently  a  former  question. 

"Yes;  I  used  that  long  ago,"  he  said.  "You 
don't  think  I  would  write  your  name  '  Genia '  now, 
do  you? " 

There  was  a  dignity  in  his  assumption  of  indif- 
ference— in  his  absolute  refusal  to  betray  himself, 
which  bore  upon  her  conception  of  his  manhood. 
There  was  strength  in  his  face,  strength  in  his  voice, 
strength  in  his  quiet  hand  that  lay  upon  her  bridle. 
She  looked  down  on  him  with  thoughtful  eyes. 


212  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  If  you  wrote  of  me  at  all,"  she  returned.  "  It 
is  my  name." 

"  But  I  am  not  to  call  you  by  it." 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  Why  not?  "  He  laughed  with  a  touch  of  bitter- 
ness, and  held  out  his  hand,  fresh  from  the  soil,  hard- 
ened by  the  plough.  It  was  a  powerful  hand,  brown 
and  sinewy,  with  distorted  knuckles  and  broken 
nails.  "  Oh,  not  that,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  mean 
that.  That  shows  work,  but  I  know  you — Genia — 
you  will  tell  me  work  is  manly.  So  it  is,  but  is 
ignorance  and  poverty  and — and  all  the  rest " 

She  leaned  over  and  touched  his  hand  lightly  with 
her  own.  "  All  the  rest  is  courage  and  patience  and 
pride,"  she  said;  "  as  for  the  hand,  it  is  a  good  hand, 
and  I  like  it." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Good  enough  in  its  place,  I  grant  you,"  he  an- 
swered; "  good  enough  in  the  fields,  at  the  plough, 
or  in  the  barnyard — good  enough  even  to  keep  this 
poor  farm  from  collapse  and  to  lift  a  few  of  its  bur- 
dens— but  not  good  enough  to " 

He  raised  her  hand  lightly,  regarding  it  with  half- 
humorous  eyes. 

"  How  strong  it  is  to  be  so  light !  "  he  added. 

"  Strong  enough  to  hold  fast  to  its  friends,"  re- 
turned Eugenia  gravely. 

He  let  it  fall  and  looked  into  her  face. 

"  May  its  friends  be  worthy  ones,"  he  said. 

She  rode  slowly  through  the  wood,  and  he  walked 
with  his  hand  on  her  bridle.  The  bright  branches 
struck  them  as  they  passed,  and  sometimes  he 
stopped  to  hold  them  aside  for  her.     His  eyes  fol- 


A 


The  Voice  of  the  People  2 1 3 

lowed  her  as  she  rode  serenely  above  him,  and  he 
thought,  in  his  folly,  of  the  lady  in  the  old  romance 
who  was,  to  the  desire  of  her  lovers,  as  "  a  distant 
flame,  a  sword  afar  off." 

"  It  was  here  that  you  told  me  good-bye  when  you 
went  off  to  school,"  he  said  recklessly. 

"  Was  it?  "  she  asked.  "  I  was  very  miserable 
that  day  and  you  gave  me  no  comfort.  You  didn't 
even  come  down  to  the  road  next  morning  to  see 
me  go  by." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  he  admitted. 

"  I  thought  you  were  asleep,  and  I  was  angry." 

"  No,  I  was  not  asleep.     I  was  at  work." 

"  But  you  might  have  come." 

"  Yes,  I  might  have  come,"  he  repeated  absently, 
and  quickly  corrected  himself.  "  No,  I  mean  I 
couldn't  come,  of  course.  If  you  were  to  go  away 
to-morrow,  I  couldn't  come.  Something  would  rise 
and  prevent.  I  have  a  presentiment  that  I  shall 
never  say  good-bye  to  you." 

She  dissented.  "  I've  a  feeling  that  I  shall  say 
'  God  speed  '  to  you  when  you  go  off  to  become  a 
great  man." 

"  A  great  man  ?  Do  you  mean  a  rich  man  ?  "  he 
asked  quickly. 

"Oh,  dear,  yes,"  she  mocked;  "a  great,  gouty 
gentleman,  who  owns  a  couple  of  railroads  and 
wears  an  electric  light  in  his  shirt-front." 

His  lips  laughed,  but  his  eyes  were  grave. 

"  And  when  I  came  back  to  you  with  such  tro- 
phies," he  objected,  "  you  would  tell  me  that  the 
railroads  belonged  to  the  people  and  that  the  electric 
light  only  served  to  illuminate  my  ugliness." 


214  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  And  I  should  take  it  to  wear  on  my  forehead," 
she  added.     "  What  prophetic  insight !  " 

"  But  '  going  off  '  does  not  always  mean  railroads 
and  electric  light,"  he  went  on  half  seriously.  "  Sup- 
pose I  came  back  poor,  but  honest,  as  they  say?  " 

Laughter  rippled  on  her  lips.  He  watched  the 
humorous  tremor  of  her  nostrils. 

"  Then  I  should  probably  kill  the  fatted  chicken 
for  you,"  she  said. 

There  was  a  touch  of  bitterness  in  his  answer. 
"  Only  in  that  case  I  should  stay  away."  As  he 
spoke  he  stopped  to  break  off  a  drooping  branch 
from  a  sweet-gum  tree  that  grew  near  the  road. 

"  You  once  called  this  your  colour,"  he  said 
quietly  as  he  fastened  the  leaves  on  her  horse's  head. 
"  There  is  no  tree  that  turns  so  clear  and  so  fiery." 

Then,  as  she  rode  on  with  the  branch  waving  like 
a  banner  before  her,  he  laughed  with  a  keen  delight 
in  the  savage  brilliance. 

"  You  remind  me  of — who  is  it  ?  "  he  asked — 
"  '  Clear  as  the  snn  and  terrible  as  an  army  with 
banners?  " 

Her  smile  was  warm  upon  him. 

"  But  my  banners  fall  before  the  wind,"  she  said 
as  several  loosened  leaves  fluttered  to  the  road. 
"  So  I  am  not  terrible,  after  all."  The  glow  of  the 
gum-tree  was  in  her  face.  His  eyes  fell  before  it, 
and  he  did  not  speak.  The  soft  footfalls  of  the  horse 
on  the  damp  ground  sounded  distinctly.  Overhead 
the  wind  rustled  among  the  trees. 

As  they  emerged  from  the  wood  and  passed  the 
Burr  farm  they  saw  Amos  leaning  on  his  gate,  look- 
ing moodily  upon  the  morning. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  215 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Burr !  "  said  Eugenia  with 
the  pleasant  condescension  of  the  general  in  her 
manner.     "  Fine  weather,  isn't  it?  " 

He  nodded  awkwardly  and  admitted,  with  a  mut- 
tered reservation,  that  the  weather  might  be  worse. 
Then  he  looked  at  Nicholas.  "  If  you  ain't  got 
nothin'  better  to  do  I  reckon  you  might  lend  a  hand 
at  the  ploughin',"  he  surlily  suggested. 

''  Why,  so  I  might,"  assented  Nicholas  good- 
humouredly.     "  I've  a  couple  of  hours  free." 

He  fastened  more  securely  the  branch  in  the 
horse's  bridle;  then,  raising  his  hat,  he  turned  and 
vaulted  the  whitewashed  fence,  while  Eugenia, 
touching  her  horse  into  a  gallop,  vanished  in  the 
distance  of  the  open  road,  blazing  her  track  with 
scarlet  gum  leaves  that  scattered  royally  in  the  wind. 

As  Nicholas  passed  the  peanut  field  he  nodded 
pleasantly  to  the  congregation  of  negroes  assembled 
for  the  annual  festival  called  "  a  picking."  They 
ranged  in  degrees  from  Uncle  Ish,  the  oldest  rep- 
resentative of  his  race,  to  Betsey's  five-year-old  Jere- 
miah, who  had  already  been  detected  in  an  attempt 
to  filch  the  nuts  from  an  overturned  shock,  and  was 
being  soundly  admonished  by  his  mother's  aveng- 
ing palm.  The  ground  was  strewn  with  baskets 
and  buckets  of  varying  dimensions,  into  which  the 
nuts  were  gathered  before  being  consigned  to  the 
huge  hamper  guarded  by  Amos  Burr.  A  hoarse 
clamour,  like  that  produced  by  a  flock  of  crows,  went 
up  from  the  animated  swarm  as  it  settled  to  work. 

Nicholas  crossed  to  the  adjoining  field  and 
ploughed  deep  furrows  in  the  soil,  going  into  break- 
fast with  the  smell  of  the  warm  earth  about  him  and 


216  The  Voice  of  the  People 

the  glow  of  exercise  in  his  blood.  He  ate  heartily 
and  listened  without  remark  to  the  political  vagaries 
of  his  father.  Amos  Burr  had  been  "  looking  into 
politics  "  of  late,  and  his  stubborn  wits  had  been 
fixed  by  a  grievance.  "  If  he  was  a  fool  befo'  now, 
he's  a  plum  fool  now,"  Marthy  Burr  had  observed 
dispassionately.  "  I  ain't  never  seen  no  head  so 
level  that  it  could  bear  the  lettin'  in  of  politics.  It 
makes  a  fool  of  a  man  and  a  worse  fool  of  a  fool. 
The  government's  like  a  mule,  it's  slow  and  it's 
sure;  it's  slow  to  turn,  and  it's  sure  to  turn  the  way 
you  don't  want  it." 

"  I  tell  you  it's  done  promised  to  help  the  farmer," 
put  in  Amos  heavily,  bringing  his  large  red  hand 
down  upon  the  table.  "  Ain't  it  been  helpin'  the 
manufacturer  all  these  years?  Ain't  it  been  lookin' 
arter  the  labourer,  black  an'  white?  Ain't  it  time  for 
it  to  keep  its  word  to  the  farmer?  " 

"  In  the  meantime  I'd  finish  that  piece  of  plough- 
ing, if  I  were  you,"  suggested  Nicholas.  "  The  more 
work  in  the  fall  the  less  in  the  spring — that's  a  prov- 
;     erb  for  you." 

"  I  don't  want  no  proverb,"  returned  Amos  sul- 
lenly.    "  I  want  my  rights,  an'  I  want  the  country 

■ 
to  give  em  to  me. 

"  I  ain't  never  seen  no  good  come  of  settin'  down 
an'  wishin'  for  rights,"  remarked  his  wife  tartly. 
"  It's  a  sight  better  to  be  up  an'  plantin'." 

Nicholas  finished  his  breakfast,  and  a  little  later 
walked  in  to  town.  He  was  in  exuberant  spirits, 
and  his  thoughts  were  high  on  the  scaffolding  where 
his  future  was  building.  Success  and  Eugenia 
startled,  allured,  delighted  him.     He  was  at  the  age 


The  Voice  of  the  People  2 1  7 

of  sublime  self-confidence,  (but  his  eyes  were  not 
bandaged  by  it.)  He  knew  that  without  success — 
such  success  as  he  dreamed  of — there  could  be,  for 
him,  no  Eugenia.  He  believed  in  her  as  he  believed 
in  the  sun,  and  yet  he  was  not  sure  of  her — he  could 
not  be  until  he  possessed  her  and  she  bore  his  name. 
That  she  might  not  love  him  he  admitted ;  that  she 
might  even  love  another  he  saw  to  be  dimly  possible ; 
but  he  was  determined  that  so  long  as  no  other  man 
held  her  his  arms  should  be  open.  In  the  first  ardour 
of  his  mood  his  relative  position  to  that  society  of 
which  she  formed  a  part  was  lost  sight  of,  if  not 
obscured.  Now  he  realised  bitterly  that  he  might 
work  for  a  lifetime  in  the  class  in  which  he  was  born, 
and  at  the  end  still  find  Eugenia  far  from  him.  He 
must  rise  above  his  work  and  his  people,  he  must 
cut  his  old  name  anew,  he  must  walk  rough-shod 
where  his  mind  led  him — among  men  who  were  his 
superiors  only  in  the  accident  of  a  better  birthright. 
And  if  on  that  higher  plane  his  ambitions  did  not 
betray,  he  would  bring  honour  to  his  State  and  to 
Eugenia. 

Here  the  two  loves  of  the  boy  and  the  man  stood 
out  boldly.  The  old  romantic  fervour  with  which  he 
had  longed  for  the  days  of  Marshall  and  Madison,  of 
Jefferson  and  Henry,  still  lingered  on  as  an  exotic 
patriotism  in  an  era  of  time-servers  and  unprofitable 
servants.  There  was  an  old-fashioned  democracy 
about  him — a  pioneer  simplicity — as  one  who  had 
walked  from  the  great  days  of  Virginia  into  her 
lesser  ones.  A  century  ago  he  might  have  left  his 
plough  to  fight,  and,  having  fought,  might  have  re- 
turned thereto;  but  the  battle  would  have  tingled  in 


218  The  Voice  of  the  People 

his  blood  and  the  furrows  have  gone  crooked.  He 
would  have  ploughed,  not  for  love  of  the  plough, 
but  because  the  time  for  the  sowing  of  the  grain  had 
come. 

Now  he  walked  rapidly  to  his  work,  seeing  Euge- 
nia in  the  woods,  in  the  sunshine,  in  the  very  clouds 
lifted  high  above.  The  thought  of  her  surrounded 
him  as  an  atmosphere. 

As  for  the  girl,  she  rode  home  and  spent  the  long 
day  in  the  garden  potting  plants  for  the  winter. 
When  she  came  into  the  hall  in  the  early  afternoon, 
with  her  trowel  in  her  hand  and  her  sleeves  rolled 
back  from  her  white  arms,  her  father  called  her  to 
the  porch,  and,  going  out,  she  found  Dudley  Webb 
in  one  of  the  cane  chairs.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  as 
she  reached  the  threshold,  and  held  out  his  hand, 
but  she  laughed  and  showed  the  earth  that  clung  to 
her  wrists.  "Unclean!  unclean!"  she  cried  gaily. 
Her  face  had  flushed  from  its  warm  pallor  and  her 
hair  hung  low  upon  her  forehead.  A  long  streak 
of  clay  lay  across  her  skirt  where  she  had  knelt  in 
the  flower-bed. 

He  seized  her  protesting  hand,  admiration  light- 
ing his  eyes.  "  Why,  little  Eugie  is  a  woman!  "  he 
exclaimed.     "  Can  you  grasp  it,  General  ?  " 

The  general  shook  his  head. 

"  If  she  wasn't  almost  as  tall  as  I,  I  shouldn't  be- 
lieve it,"  he  declared,  "  though  she's  as  old  as  her 
mother  was  when  I  married  her." 

Eugenia  seated  herself  upon  the  bench,  still  hold- 
ing the  trowel  in  her  hand.  She  was  watching  the 
interest  in  her  father's  face,  and  she  realised,  half 
resentfully,  that  it  was  evoked  by  Dudley  Webb. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  219 

He  had  drawn  the  general's  favourite  anecdotes 
from  him,  and  they  had  plunged  together  into  a  dis- 
cussion of  the  good  old  days.  After  a  few  lightwords 
she  sat  silent,  listening  with  tender  attention  to  the 
threadbare  stories  on  the  one  side  and  the  hearty 
applause  of  them  on  the  other.  She  wondered  wist- 
fully why  Dudley  and  herself  were  the  only  persons 
who  understood  as  well  as  loved  the  general.  Why 
was  it  Dudley,  and  not  Nicholas,  who  brought  that 
youthful  look  to  his  face  and  the  heartiness  to  his 
voice  ? 

"  Some  one  was  telling  me  the  other  day — I  think 
it  was  Colonel  Preston — that  he  fought  beside  you 
at  Seven  Pines,"  Dudley  was  saying  with  that  ab- 
sorption in  his  subject  which  won  him  a  friend  in 
every  man  who  told  him  a  joke. 

"  Jake  Preston  !  "  exclaimed  the  general.  "  Why, 
bless  my  soul !  I've  slept  under  the  same  blanket  with 
Jake  Preston  twenty  times.  I  was  standing  by  him 
when  he  got  that  bullet  in  his  thigh.  Did  he  tell 
you?" 

Eugenia  rose  in  a  moment  and  went  back  to  her 
flowers.  As  she  passed  she  threw  a  grateful  glance 
at  Dudley,  but  when  she  reached  the  garden  it  was 
of  Nicholas  she  was  thinking.  There  was  a  glow 
at  her  heart  that  kept  alive  the  memory  of  his  eyes 
as  he  looked  at  her  in  the  wood,  of  his  voice  when 
he  called  her  name,  of  his  hand  when  it  brushed  her 
own. 

She  fell  happily  to  work,  and  whin  Dudley  came 
out,  an  hour  later,  to  find  her,  she  was  singing  softly 
as  she  uprooted  a  scarlet  geranium. 

He  smiled  and  looked  down  on  her  with  frank 


220  The  Voice  of  the  People 

enjoyment  of  her  ripening  womanhood,  but  it  did 
not  occur  to  him  to  join  in  the  transplanting  as 
Nicholas  would  have  done.  He  held  off  and  ab- 
sorbed the  picture. 

"  You  do  papa  so  much  good !  "  said  Eugenia 
gratefully.  "  I  hope  you  will  come  out  whenever 
you  are  in  Kingsborough." 

She  was  kneeling  upon  the  ground,  her  hands 
buried  in  the  flower-bed,  her  firm  arms  rising  white 
above  the  rich  earth.  The  line  of  her  bosom  rose 
and  fell  swiftly,  and  her  breath  came  in  soft  pants. 
There  was  a  flush  in  her  cheeks. 

"  If  you  wish  it  I  will  come,"  he  answered  impul- 
sively. "  I  will  come  to  Kingsborough  every  week 
I  if  you  wish  it." 

His  temperament  responded  promptly  to  the  ap- 
peal of  her  beauty,  and  his  blood  quickened  as  it  did 
when  women  moved  him.  There  was  about  him, 
withal,  a  fantastic  chivalry  which  succumbed  to  the 
glitter  of  false  sentiment.  He  would  have  made  the 
remark  had  Eugenia  been  plain — but  he  would  not 
have  come  to  Kingsborough. 

"  It  would  please  your  mother,"  returned  the  girl 
quietly.  She  had  the  sexual  self-poise  of  the  Vir- 
ginia woman,  and  she  weighed  the  implied  compli- 
ment at  its  due  value.  Had  he  declared  he  would 
die  for  her  once  a  week,  she  would  have  received  the 
assurance  with  much  the  same  smiling  indifference. 

"  I'll  run  down,  I  think,  pretty  often  this  winter," 
he  went  on  easily.  "  It's  a  nice  old  town,  after  all — 
isn't  it ?" 

"  It's  the  dearest  old  town  in  the  world,"  said 
Eugenia. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  221 

"  Well,  I  believe  it  is — strange,  I  used  to  find  it 
dull,  don't  you  think?  By  the  way,  will  you  let  me 
ride  with  you  sometimes?  I  hear  you  are  as  great 
a  horsewoman  as  ever." 

Eugenia  looked  up  calmly. 

"  I  go  very  early,"  she  answered.  "  Can  you  get 
up  at  daybreak  ?  " 

He  laughed  his  pleasant  laugh. 

"  Oh,  I  might  manage  it,"  he  rejoined.  "  I'm  not 
much  of  an  early  riser,  I  never  knew  before  what 
charms  the  sunrise  held." 

But  Eugenia  went  on  potting  plants. 


IV 

During  the  following  week  Sally  Burwell  came 
to  spend  the  night  with  Eugenia,  and  the  girls  sat 
before  the  log  fire  in  Eugenia's  room  until  they 
heard  the  cocks  crow  shrilly  from  the  hen-house. 
The  room  was  a  large,  old-fashioned  chamber,  full 
'  of  dark  corners  and  unsuspected  alcoves ;  and  the 
lamp  on  the  bureau  served  only  to  intensify  the 
shadows  that  lay  beyond  its  faint  illumination. 

Sally,  her  pretty  hair  in  a  tumble  on  her  shoulders 
and  the  light  of  the  logs  on  her  bare  arms,  was 
stretched  upon  the  hearth-rug,  looking  up  at  Eu- 
genia, who  lay  in  an  easy-chair,  her  feet  almost 
touching  the  embers.  A  waiter  of  russet  apples 
was  on  the  floor  beside  them. 

"  This  is  my  idea  of  comfort,"  murmured  Sally 
sleepily  as  she  munched  an  apple.  "  No  men  and 
no  manners." 

"  If  you  liked  it,  you'd  come  often,  chick,"  re- 
turned Eugenia. 

"  Bless  you !  I'm  too  busy.  I  made  over  two 
dresses  this  week,  trimmed  mamma  a  bonnet,  and 
covered  a  sofa  with  cretonne.  One  of  the  dresses 
is  a  love.  I  wore  it  yesterday,  and  Dudley  said  it 
reminded  him  of  one  he'd  seen  on  the  stage." 

"  He  says  a  good  deal,"  observed  Eugenia  un- 
sympathetically. 

"  Doesn't  he?  "  laughed  Sally.     "  At  any  rate,  he 


The  Voice  of  the  People  223 

said  that  he  found  you  reading  Plato  under  the 
trees,  and  that  any  woman  who  read  Plato  ought 
to  be  ostracised — unless  she  happens  to  be  hand- 
some enough  to  make  you  overlook  it.  Is  that  your 
Plato?     What  is  he  like?" 

Eugenia  savagely  shook  her  head. 

"  It's  no  affair  of  his,"  she  retorted  promptly, 
meaning  not  Plato,  but  Dudley. 

"  Oh !  he  said  he  knew  it  wasn't.  I  think  he  even 
wished  it  were.  You're  too  unconventional  for  him 
— he  frankly  admits  it — but  he  admits  also  that 
you're  good-looking  enough  to  warrant  the  uncon- 
ventionally of  a  Hottentot — and  you  are,  you  dear, 
bad  thing,  though  your  forehead's  too  high  and  your 
chin's  too  long  and  your  nose  isn't  all  that  a  nose 
should  be." 

"  Thanks,"  drawled  Eugenia  amicably.  "  But 
Dudley's  a  nice  fellow,  all  the  same.  He  gets  on 
splendidly  with  papa — and  I  bless  him  for  it." 

"  He  gets  on  well  with  everybody — even  his 
mother — which  makes  me  suspect  that  he's  a  Job 
masquerading  as  an  Apollo.  By  the  way,  Mrs. 
Webb  wants  you  to  join  some  society  she's  getting 
up  called  the  '  Daughters  of  Duty.'  " 

"  Oh,  I  can't !  I  can't !  "  protested  Eugenia  dis- 
tressfully. "  I  detest '  Daughter  '  things,  and  I  have 
a  rooted  aversion  to  my  duty.  But  if  she  comes  to 
me  I'll  join  it — I  know  I  shall !  How  did  you  keep 
out  of  it?" 

"  I  didn't.  I'm  in  it.  It  seems  that  our  duty  is 
confined  to  '  preserving  the  antiquities  '  of  Kings- 
borough — so  I  began  by  presenting  a  jar  of  pickled 
cucumbers  to  Uncle  Ish.     I  trust  they  won't  be  the 


224  The  Voice  of  the  People 

death  of  him,  but  he  was  the  only  antiquity  in 
sight." 

She  gave  the  smouldering  log  a  push  with  her 
foot,  and  it  broke  apart,  scattering  a  shower  of 
sparks.  "  I  don't  know  any  other  woman  so  much 
admired  and  so  little  loved,"  she  mused  of  Mrs. 
Webb. 

"  Papa  worships  her,"  said  Eugenia.  "  All  men 
do — at  a  distance.  She's  the  kind  of  woman  you 
never  get  near  enough  to  to  feel  that  she  is  flesh. 
Now,  Aunt  Chris  is  just  the  opposite.  No  one  ever 
gets  far  enough  away  from  her  to  feel  that  she's  a 
saint — which  she  is." 

"  It's  odd  she  never  married,"  wondered  Sally. 

"  She  never  had  time  to."  Eugenia  clasped  her 
hands  behind  her  head  and  looked  up  at  the  high, 
plastered  ceiling.  "  She  never  happened  to  be  in  a 
place  where  she  could  be  spared.  But  you  know 
her  lover  died  when  she  was  young,"  she  added.  "  It 
broke  her  heart,  but  it  did  not  destroy  her  happiness. 
She  has  been  happy  for  forty  years  with  a  broken 
heart." 

"  I  know,"  said  Sally.  "  It  seems  strange,  doesn't 
it  ?  But  I've  known  so  many  like  her.  The  happi- 
est woman  I  ever  knew  had  lost  everything  she 
cared  for  in  the  war.  That  war  was  fought  on 
women's  hearts,  but  they  went  on  beating  just  the 
same.     I'm  glad  I  wasn't  I  then." 

"  And  I'm  sorry.  I  like  stirring  deeds  and  shot 
and  shell  and  tattered  flags.     They  thrill  one." 

"  And  kill  one,"  added  Sally.  "  But  you've  got 
that  kind  of  pluck.     You  aren't  afraid." 

"  Oh !    yes,    I    am,"    protested    Eugenia.     "  I'm 


The  Voice  of  the  People  225 

afraid  of  bats  and  of  getting  fat  like  my  fore- 
fathers." 

Sally  shook  a  reassuring  head. 

"  But  you  won't,  darling.  Your  mother  was  thin, 
and  you're  the  image  of  her — everybody  says  so." 

"  But  I'm  afraid — horribly  afraid.  I  don't  dare 
eat  potatoes,  and  I  wouldn't  so  much  as  look  at  a 
glass  of  buttermilk.     The  fear  is  on  me." 

"  It's  absurd.  Why,  your  grandma  Tucker  was  a 
rail — I  remember  her.  I  know  your  other  grand- 
mother was — enormous ;  but  you  ought  to  strike 
the  happy  medium — and  you  do.  You're  splendid. 
You  aren't  a  bit  too  large  for  your  height." 

Eugenia  laughed  as  she  twisted  Sally's  curls  about 
her  fingers.  "  You're  the  dearest  little  duck  that 
ever  lived  on  dry  land,"  she  said.  "  If  I  were  a 
man  I'd  be  wild  about  you." 

"  A  few  of  them  are,"  returned  Sally  meekly,  cast- 
ing up  her  eyes,'  "  but  I " 

"  How  about  Gerald  Smith  ?  " 

"  He's  too  tall.  I  look  like  an  aspiring  grass- 
hopper beside  him." 

"And  Jack  Wyth?" 

"  He's  too  short." 

"And  Sydney  Kent?" 

"  He's  too  stupid." 

"And  Tom  Bassett?" 

Sally  yawned. 

"  He's  too — everything.  There's  cock  crow,  and 
I'm  going  to  bed." 

The  next  afternoon  Eugenia  drove  Sally  in  to 
town,  and  stopped  on  her  outward  trip  to  pay  a  visit 
to  Mrs.  Webb.     She  found  that  lady  serenely  seated 

15 


226  The  Voice  of  the  People 

in  her  drawing-room,  as  unruffled  as  if  she  had  not 
just  dismissed  a  cook  and  cooked  a  dinner. 

"  Oh,  yes,  thank  you,  dear,  all  is  well,"  she  re- 
plied in  answer  to  the  girl's  question ;  for  she  held 
it  to  be  vulgarity  to  allude,  in  her  drawing-room, 
to  the  trials  of  housekeeping.  She  was  not  touched 
by  such  questions  because  she  ignored  that  she  was 
in  any  way  concerned  in  them.  She  spent  six  hours 
a  day  with  her  servants,  but  had  she  spent  twenty- 
four  she  would  have  remained  secure  in  her  convic- 
tion that  they  did  not  come  within  the  sphere  of  her 
life. 

"  I  have  wanted  to  see  you  to  ask  you  to  join  my 
society,  the  '  Daughters  of  Duty,'  "  she  went  on,  her 
eyes  on  a  piece  of  fine  white  damask  she  was  hem- 
stitching. "  Its  object  is  to  preserve  our  old  land- 
marks, and  when  I  spoke  to  your  father  he  told  me 
he  was  quite  sure  you  would  care  to  become  an 
active  member." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  don't  have  much  time,"  began  Eu- 
genia helplessly,  when  Mrs.  Webb  interrupted  her, 
though  without  haste  or  discourtesy. 

"  Not  have  time,  my  dear  ?  "  she  repeated  with  her 
slow,  fine  smile.  "  If  I  can  find  time,  with  all  my 
other  duties,  don't  you  think  that  you  might  be  able 
to  do  so?" 

Eugenia  was  baffled.  "  Of  course  I  love  Kings- 
borough,"  she  said,  "  and  I'd  preserve  every  inch  of 
it  with  my  own  hands  if  I  could — but  I  can't  bear 
meetings — and — and  things." 

Mrs.  Webb  took  a  careful  stitch  in  the  damask. 
"  I  thought  you  might  care  enough  to  assist  us," 
she  remarked  tentatively ;  and  Eugenia  succumbed. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  227 

"  I'll  do  anything  I  can,"  she  declared.  "  I  will, 
indeed — only  you  mustn't  expect  much." 

In  a  few  moments  she  rose  to  go,  lingering  with 
a  courteous  appearance  of  being  unwilling  to  de- 
part, which  belonged  to  her  social  training.  As  she 
stood  in  the  doorway,  her  hand  in  Mrs.  Webb's, 
the  older  woman  looked  at  her  almost  affectionately. 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  Dudley  this  morning," 
she  said.  "  He  is  coming  down  next  week  for 
Sunday." 

A  flush  crossed  Eugenia's  face,  evoking  an  ex- 
pression of  irritation. 

"  You  must  miss  him,"  she  observed  sympatheti- 
cally. 

"  I  do  miss  him,  but  he  comes  often.  He  is  a 
good  son.  He  sent  a  message  to  you,  by  the  way, 
but  it  was  not  important." 

"  No,  it  was  not  important,"  repeated  Eugenia 
with  a  feeling  that  her  carelessness  appeared  to  be 
assumed. 

She  lightly  kissed  Mrs.  Webb  and  ran  down  the 
steps  and  into  the  carriage,  which  was  waiting  in  the 
road.  Her  visit  had  left  her  with  a  curious  sense 
of  oppression,  and  she  breathed  a  long  draught  of 
the  invigorating  air. 

As  she  drove  down  the  street  she  saw  Nicholas 
coming  out  of  his  office  and  offered  him  a  "  lift  "  to 
his  home.  He  said  little  on  the  way,  and  his  utter- 
ances were  forced,  but  Eugenia  talked  lightly  and 
rapidly,  as  she  always  did  when  with  him. 

She  told  him  of  Sally  Burwell,  of  the  last  letter 
from  Bernard — who  was  coming  home  soon — of 
Mrs.  Webb  and  the  "  Daughters  of  Duty." 


228  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  The  truth  is,  I  like  her,  but  I'm  afraid  of  her — 
dreadfully." 

"  She  disapproves  of  your — your  liking  for  me," 
he  said  bitterly.  "  But  every  one  does  that — even 
the  judge,  though  he  doesn't  say  anything.  And 
they  are  right — I  see  it.  You  know  from  what  I 
came  and  what  I  am." 

"  Yes,  I  know  what  you  are,"  she  returned  defi- 
antly, "  and  they  shall  all  know  some  day." 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her  as  she  sat  beside 
him,  but  he  was  silent,  nor  did  he  speak  until  he 
said  "  good-bye  "  before  his  father's  gate. 

It  was  some  days  later  that  she  saw  him  again. 
She  had  gone  out  to  gather  goldenrod  for  the  great 
blue  vases  that  stood  on  the  dining-room  mantel- 
piece, and  was  standing  knee-deep  in  the  ragged 
field,  when  he  leaped  the  fence  that  divided  the  farms 
and  crossed  to  where  she  stood. 

The  sun  was  going  down  behind  the  blackened 
branches  of  the  dead  oak,  and  the  wide  common, 
spread  with  goldenrod  and  life-everlasting,  lay  like 
a  sea  of  flame  and  snow.  Eugenia,  standing  in  its 
midst,  a  tall  woman  in  a  dress  of  brown,  fell  in 
richly  with  the  surrounding  colours.  Her  arms 
were  filled  with  the  yellow  plumes  and  her  dress 
was  tinselled  with  the  dried  pollen  that  floated  in 
the  air.  As  Nicholas  reached  her  she  was  seek- 
ing to  free  herself  from  the  clutch  of  a  crimson 
briar  that  crawled  along  the  ground,  and  in  the 
effort  some  of  the  broken  stalks  slipped  from  her 
hold. 

Without  speaking,  he  knelt  beside  her  and  re- 
leased her  skirt.      "  You   have   torn   it,"   he   said 


The  Voice  of  the  People  229 

quietly,  but  he  was  looking  up  at  her,  and  there  was 
a  quality  in  his  voice  which  thrilled  her. 

"  Have  I?  "  she  returned  quickly.  "  Well,  I  can 
mend  it — but  there !  it's  caught  again.  I've  been 
trying  to  get  free  for — hours." 

He  smiled. 

"  You  came  into  the  field  only  twenty  minutes 
ago.  I  saw  you.  But,  hold  on.  I'll  uproot  this 
blackberry  vine  while  I'm  about  it." 

He  tore  it  from  its  tenacious  hold  to  the  earth 
and  flung  it  into  the  field.  Then  he  examined  the 
rent  in  Eugenia's  dress. 

"  If  you  had  waited  until  I  came  you  might  have 
spared  yourself  this — patch,"  he  observed. 

"  I  shan't  patch  it — and  I  didn't  know  you  were 
coming." 

"  Don't  I  always  come — when  there's  a  patch  to 
be  saved  ?  "  he  asked.    "  I  hate  to  see  things  ruined." 

"  Then  you  might  have  come  sooner.  There, 
give  me  my  goldenrod.     It's  all  scattered." 

He  began  patiently  to  gather  up  the  stalks,  ar- 
ranging them  in  an  even  layer  of  equal  lengths. 

Eugenia  watched  him,  laughing. 

"  How  precise  you  are !  "  she  said. 

"  Aren't  they  right  ?  "  He  looked  up  for  her 
approval,  and  she  saw  that  he  had  grown  singularly 
boyish.  His  face  was  less  rugged,  more  sensitive. 
He  wore  no  hat,  and  his  thick  red  hair  had  fallen 
across  his  forehead,  ^he  felt  the  peculiar  power 
of  his  look  as  she  had  felt  it  before.! 

"  No,  they're  wrong.  They  aren't  Chinese  puz- 
zles.    Don't  fix  them  so  tight.     Here." 

She  took  them  from  him,  and  as  his  hands  touched 


230  The  Voice  of  the  People 

hers  she  noticed  that  they  were  cold.  "  You're 
shaking  them  all  apart,"  he  protested,  "  and  I  took 
such  a  lot  of  trouble." 

As  she  bent  her  head  his  eyes  followed  the  dark 
coil  of  hair  to  the  white  nape  of  her  neck  where  her 
collar  rose.  Several  loose  strands  had  blown  across 
her  ear  and  wound  softly  about  the  delicate  lobe. 
He  wanted  to  raise  his  hand  and  put  them  in  place, 
but  he  checked  himself  with  a  start.  With  his  eyes 
upon  her  he  recalled  the  warmth  of  her  woollen 
dress,  and  he  wished  that  he  had  put  his  lips  to  it 
as  he  knelt.     She  would  never  have  known. 

Then,  by  a  curious  emotional  phenomenon,  she 
seemed  to  be  suddenly  invested  with  the  glory  of 
the  sunset.  The  goldenrod  burned  at  her  feet  and 
on  her  bosom,  and  her  fervent  blood  leaped  to  her 
face.  The  next  moment  he  staggered  like  a  man 
fblinded  by  too  much  light4-the  field,  with  Eugenia 
rising  in  its  midst,  flamed  'before  his  eyes,  and  he 
put  out  his  hand  like  one  in  pain. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  quickly,  and  her  voice 
seemed  a  part  of  the  general  radiance.  "  You  have 
been  looking  at  the  sun.     It  hurts  my  eyes." 

"  No,"  he  answered  steadily,  "  I  was  looking  at 
you." 

She  thrilled  as  he  spoke  and  brought  her  eyes 
to  the  level  of  his.  Then  she  would  have  looked 
away,  but  his  gaze  held  her,  and  she  made  a  sudden 
movement  of  alarm — a  swift  tremor  to  escape.  She 
held  the  sheaf  of  goldenrod  to  her  bosom  and  above 
it  her  eyes  shone ;  her  breath  came  quickly  between 
her  parted  lips.  All  her  changeful  beauty  was 
startled  into  life. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  231 

"  Genia !  "  he  said  softly,  so  softly  that  he  seemed 
speaking  to  himself.     "  Genia !  " 

"  Yes  ?  "    She  responded  in  the  same  still  whisper. 

"You  know?" 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  repeated  slowly.  Her  glance 
fell  from  his  and  she  turned  away. 

"  You  know  it  is — impossible,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  I  know  it  is  impossible." 

There  was  a  gasp  in  her  voice.  She  turned  to 
move  onward — a  briar  caught  her  dress ;  she  stum- 
bled for  an  instant,  and  he  flung  out  his  arms. 

"  You  know  it  is  impossible,"  he  said,  and  kissed 
her. 

The  sheaf  of  goldenrod  loosened  and  scattered 
between  them.  Her  head  lay  on  his  arm,  and  he  felt 
her  warm  breath  come  and  go.  Her  face  was  up- 
turned, and  he  saw  her  eyes  as  he  had  never  seen 
them  before — light  on  light,  shadow  on  shadow. 
He  looked  at  her  in  the  brief  instant  as  a  man  looks 
to  remember — at  the  white  brow — the  red  mouth,  at 
the  blue  veins,  and  the  dark  hair,  at  the  upward  lift 
of  the  chin  and  the  straight  throat — at  all  the  perfect 
colouring  and  the  imperfect  outline. 

"  You  know  it  is  impossible,"  he  repeated,  and 
put  her  from  him. 

Eugenia  gathered  herself  together  like  one 
stunned.  "  I  must  go,"  she  said  breathlessly.  "  I 
must  go." 

Then  she  hesitated  and  stood  before  him,  her 
hands  on  her  bosom,  a  single  spray  of  goldenrod 
clinging  to  her  dress. 

He  folded  his  arms  as  he  faced  her. 

"  I  have  loved  you  all  my  life,"  he  said. 


232  The  Voice  of  the  People 

She  bowed  her  head;  her  face  had  gone  white. 

"  I  shall  always  love  you,"  he  went  on.  "  You 
may  as  well  know  it.  Men  change,  but  I  do  not.  I 
have  never  really  loved  anybody  else.  I  have  tried 
to  love  my  family,  but  I  never  did.  When  I  was  a 
little,  God-forsaken  chap  I  used  to  want  to  love 
people,  but  I  couldn't — I  couldn't  even  love  the 
judge — whom  I  would  die  for.     I  love  you." 

"  I  know  it,"  she  said. 

"  If  you  will  wait  I  will  work  for  }^ou.  I  will 
work  until  they  let  me  have  you.  I  don't  mean  that 
I  shall  ever  be  good  enough  for  you — because  I 
shall  not  be.  I  shall  always  be  a  brute  beside  you 
— but  if  you  will  wait  I  will  win  you.     I  swear  it !  " 

She  had  not  moved.  She  was  as  still  as  the  dead 
oak  that  towered  above  them.  The  sunset  struck 
upon  her  bowed  head  and  upon  the  quiet  bosom, 
where  her  hands  were  clasped. 

"  I  will  wait,"  she  answered. 

He  came  nearer  and  kissed  the  hands  upon  her 
breast.     His  face  was  flushed  and  his  lips  were  hot. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said  simp-ly  as  he  drew  back. 

In  a  moment  he  stooped  to  pick  up  the  scattered 
goldenrod,  heaping  it  into  her  arms.  "  This  is 
enough  to  fill  the  house,"  he  protested.  "  You 
can't  want  so  much." 

He  had  regained  his  rational  tone,  and  she  re- 
sponded to  it  with  a  smile. 
/         "I  never  know  when  I'm  satisfied,"  she  said.     "  It 
'        is  my  weakness.     As  a  child  I  always  ate  candy 
until  it  made  me  ill." 

They  crossed  the  field,  the  long  plumes  brushing 
against  them  and  powdering  them  with  a  feathery 


The  Voice  of  the  People  233 

gold  dust.  At  the  fence  she  gave  him  the  bunch 
and  lightly  swung  herself  over  the  sunken  rails.  It 
did  not  occur  to  him  to  assist  her;  she  had  always 
been  as  good  as  he  at  vaulting  bars.  Now  her  long 
skirts  retarded  her,  and  she  laughed  as  she  came 
quickly  to  the  ground  on  the  opposite  side. 

"  One  of  the  many  disadvantages  of  my  sex,"  she  / 
said.     "  The  best  prisons   men   ever  invented  are 
women's  skirts.     Our  wirigs  are  clipped  while  we 
wear  them." 

"  It  is  hard,"  he  returned  as  he  recalled  her  school- 
girl feats.     "  You  were  such  a  mighty  jumper." 

"  Those  halcyon  days  are  done,"  she  sighed.  "  I 
can  never  stray  beyond  my  '  sphere  '  again." 

They  had  reached  the  end  of  the  avenue,  so  he 
left  her  and  went  homeward  along  the  road.  The 
sun  had  gone  slowly  down  and  the  western  horizon 
was  ripped  open  in  a  deep  red  track.  The  charred 
skeleton  of  the  oak  loomed  black  and  sinister 
against  the  afterglow,  and  at  its  feet  the  glory  went 
out  of  the  autumn  field.  Straight  ahead  the  sound 
of  shots  rang  out  where  a  flock  of  bats  circled  above 
the  road.  On  the  darkening  landscape  the  lights 
began  to  glimmer  in  farmhouses  far  apart,  and  to 
Nicholas  they  seemed  watchful,  friendly  eyes  that 
looked  upon  him.  All  Nature  was  watchful — all  the 
universe  friendly.  The  glow  which  irradiated  his 
outlook  with  an  abrupt  transfiguration  was  to  him 
the  glow  of  universal  joy,  though  he  knew  it  to  be 
but  the  vanishing  beam  of  youth  and  the  end  thereof 
age. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  singled  out — se- 
curely set  apart  by  some  beneficent  hand  for  some 


234  The  Voice  of  the  People 

supreme  good  which,  in  his  limited  observation,  he 
had  never  seen  put  forth  in  the  lots  of  others.  His 
own  life  lay  so  much  nearer  the  Divine  purpose  than 
did  the  lives  of  his  neighbours — the  purpose  of  Na- 
ture, whose  end  is  the  happiness  that  conforms  to 
sane  and  immutable  laws.  His  kiss  on  Eugenia's 
lips  was  to  him  God-given;  the  answer  in  her  eyes 
had  flamed  a  Scriptural  inspiration.  In  the  tumul- 
tuous leaping  of  his  thoughts  it  seemed  to  him  that 
the  meaning  of  existence  lay  unrolled — a  meaning 
obscured  in  all  religions,  overlooked  in  all  philoso- 
phies— a  meaning  that  could  be  read  only  by  the 
lamp  that  was  lit  in  the  eyes  that  loved. 

So  in  his  ignorance  and  his  ecstasy  he  went  on  his 
confident  way,  while  passion  throbbed  in  his  pulses 
and  youth  quickened  in  his  brain. 

From  the  far-off  pines  twilight  came  to  meet  him, 
the  lights  glimmered  clearer  in  distant  windows,  the 
afterglow  drifted  from  the  west,  and  the  shots  ceased 
where  the  black  bats  circled  above  the  road. 


V 

Eugenia  arranged  the  goldenrod  in  the  great 
blue  vases  and  sat  in  the  deserted  dining-room 
thinking  of  Nicholas.  Where  the  damask  curtains 
were  drawn  back  from  the  windows  a  gray  line  of 
twilight  landscape  was  visible,  and  a  chill,  trans- 
parent dusk  filled  the  large  room.  Outside  she 
would  see  the  box-walk,  a  stretch  of  lawn,  broken  by 
flower-beds,  and  the  avenue  of  cedars  leading  to  the 
highway.  From  the  porch  floated  the  smoke  of  the 
general's  pipe. 

Her  brow  was  on  her  hand  and  she  sat  so  motion- 
less that  the  place  seemed  deserted,  save  for  an 
errant  firefly  that  vainly  palpitated  in  the  gloom. 
The  glow  that  had  flamed  beneath  Nicholas's  kiss 
still  lingered  in  her  face,  and  she  was  conscious  of  a 
faint,  almost  hysterical  impulse  to  weep.  The  fever 
in  her  veins  had  given  place  to  a  still  tremor  which 
ran  through  her  limbs.  At  first  she  felt  rather  than 
thought.  She  lapsed  into  an  emotional  reverie  as 
delicate  as  the  fragrance  of  the  October  roses  on  the 
table.  There  was  a  sensation  of  softness  as  when 
one  lies  full  length  in  sunshine  or  is  caressed  by  fire- 
light. She  felt  it  pervade  her  body  even  to  the 
palms  of  her  hands.  Then  her  quick  mind  stirred, 
and  she  recalled  the  pressure  of  his  arms,  the  light 
in  his  eyes,  the  quiver  of  his  lips  as  they  touched  her 
hands.  His  strength  had  dominated  her  and  it  still 
held  her — the  firm  note  in  the  voice  that  trembled, 


236  The  Voice  of  the  People 

the  power  in  the  hand  that  appealed,  the  almost 
savage  vigour  in  the  arms  that  he  folded  on  his 
breast.  She  had  succumbed  less  to  his  gentleness 
than  to  the  knowledge  that  it  was  she  alone  who 
evoked  that  gentleness  out  of  a  nature  almost  ada- 
mantine, wholly  masculine.  His  faults  she  knew  to 
be  the  faults  of  one  who  had  hewn  his  own  road  in 
life — a  rugged  surface — a  strain  of  rigidity  beneath 
— at  worst  a  tendency  to  dogmatise — and  knowing 
as  she  did  her  own  control  over  them,  they  attracted 
rather  than  repelled  her. 

And  yet  in  this  pulsating  recognition  of.  his  man- 
hood there  was  mingled  with  an  emotion  half- 
maternal  the  memory  of  her  own  guardianship  of 
his  stunted  childhood.  To  a  woman  at  once  rashly 
spirited  and  profoundly  feminine  the  pathos  of  his 
boyish  struggle  appealed  no  less  forcibly  than  did 
the  virility  of  his  manhood.  She  might  have  loved 
him  less  had  her  thought  of  him  been  untouched  by 
pity. 

She  sat  quietly  in  the  twilight  until  Congo 
brought  in  the  lamp  and  a  prospect  of  supper.  Then 
she  rose  and  went  to  join  her  father  on  the  porch. 

"  Why  did  you  tell  Mrs.  Webb  I  would  be  a 
'  Daughter,'  papa?  "  she  gaily  demanded. 

The  general  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and 
stared  up  at  her. 

"  It's  a  good  cause,  Eugie,"  he  replied,  "  and 
she's  a  remarkable  woman.  Her  executive  ability 
is  astounding — absolutely  astounding." 

"  I  joined,"  said  Eugenia.  "  I  had  to,  after  you 
said  that.  You  know,  I  called  on  her  the  day  I 
took  Sallv  in." 


The  Voice  of  the  People  237 

The  general  lowered  his  eyes  and  thoughtfully 
regarded  the  light  that  was  going  gray  in  his 
pipe. 

"  Did  she  happen  to  say  anything  about — Dud- 
ley ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Oh,  yes.  She  said  he  sent  me  a  message  in  a 
letter." 

"  Did  she  tell  you  what  'twas?  " 

"  No.     I  didn't  ask  her." 

He  put  the  stem  of  his  pipe  between  his  teeth  and 
hung  on  it  desperately  for  a  moment ;  then  he  took 
it  out  again. 

"  He's  a  fine  young  fellow,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I 
don't  know  a  finer — and,  bless  my  soul !  I'd  see  you 
married  to  him  to-morrow." 

But  Eugenia  laughed  and  beat  his  shoulder. 

"  You  don't  want  to  see  me  married  to  anybody," 
she  said,  "  and  you  know  it." 

At  the  end  of  the  ensuing  week  Dudley  came  to 
Kingsborough,  and  upon  the  first  evening  of  his 
visit  he  walked  out  to  Battle  Hall.  He  was  looking 
smooth  and  well  groomed,  and  the  mass  of  his  thick 
dark  hair  waving  over  his  white  brow  gave  him  an 
air  of  earnestness  and  ardour.  Eugenia  wondered 
that  she  had  never  noticed  before  that  he  was  like 
the  portrait  of  an  old-time  orator,  and  that  his 
hands  were  finely  rounded. 

His  voice,  with  its  suggestion  of  suavity,  fell 
soothingly  on  her  nerves.  She  had  never  liked 
him  so  much,  and  she  had  never  shown  it  so  plainly. 
Once  as  she  met  his  genial  gaze  she  held  her 
breath  at  the  marvel  that  he  should  grow  to  love 
her,  and  in  vain.  Was  it  that  beside  his  splendid  shal- 


s 


238  The  Voice  of  the  People 

lows  the  more  luminous  depths  of  Nicholas's  nature 
still  showed  supreme  ?  Or  was  it  a  question  of  fate 
— and  of  first  and  last?  Had  Dudley  come  upon  her 
in  the  red  sunset,  in  the  little  shanty  beside  the  road, 
would  she  have  gone  out  to  him  in  the  mere  leaping 
of  youth  and  womanhood?  \¥as  it  the_moment, 
after  all,jmiL»©.k.th,e  man?  Or  was  it  something 
more  unerring  still — more^  profound — the  prophetic 
call  of  individual  to  individual,  despite  the  specious 
pleading  of  the  race  ?  But  she  put  the  thought  aside 
and  returned  casually  to  Dudley. 

His  heartiness  was  a  tonic,  and  her  vanity  re- 
sponded to  the  unaffected  admiration  in  his  eyes ; 
but  his  chief  claim  to  her  regard  lay  in  the  fact  that 
it  was  the  general,  and  not  herself,  whom  he  en- 
deavoured to  propitiate. 

"  Well,  my  dear  General !  "  he  exclaimed  cor- 
dially as  he  threw  himself  upon  the  worn  horsehair 
sofa  in  what  was  called  the  "  sitting-room,"  "  I  find 
your  story  about  the  fighting  Texans  capped  by  one 
Major  Mason  was  telling  me  last  night  about  the 
North  Carolinians "     He  got  no  farther. 

"  I've  fought  side  by  side  with  North  Carolina 
regiments,  and  I  tell  you,  sir,  they're  the  best 
fighters  God  ever  made !  "  cried  the  general.  "  Did 
you  ever  hear  that  story  about  'em  when  I  was 
wounded  ? " 

Dudley  shook  his  head  and  leaned  forward,  his 
hands  clasped  between  his  knees  and  an  expression 
of  flattering  absorption  on  his  face. 

"  I  can't  recall  it  now,  sir,"  he  delightfully  lied. 

The  general  cleared  his  throat,  laid  his  pipe  aside, 
and  drew  up  his  chair. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  239 

"  It  was  in  my  last  battle,"  he  began.  "  You 
know  I  got  that  ball  in  my  shoulder  and  was  laid  up 
when  Lee  surrendered — well,  sir,  I  was  propped  up 
there  close  by  a  company  of  those  raw-boned  moun- 
taineers from  North  Carolina,  and  they  stood  as  still 
as  the  pine  wood  behind  'em,  while  their  colonel 
swore  at  'em  like  mad. 

"  '  Damn  you  for  a  troop  of  babies ! '  he  yelled. 
'  Ain't  you  goin'  into  the  fight  ?  Can't  you  lick  a 
blamed  Yankee  ? '  And,  bless  your  soul !  those 
scraggy  fellows  stood  stock  still  and  sung  out: 

"  '  We  ain't  mad ! ' 

"  Well,  sir,  they'd  no  sooner  yelled  that  back  than 
a  bullet  whizzed  along  and  took  off  one  of  their 
own  men,  and,  on  my  oath,  the  bullet  hadn't  ceased 
singing  in  my  ears  before  that  company  charged 
the  enemy  to  a  man — and  whipped  'em,  too,  sir — 
whipped  'em  clean  off  the  field !  " 

He  paused,  clapped  his  knee,  and  roared. 

"  That's  your  North  Carolinian,"  he  said.  "  He's 
a  God  Almighty  fighter,  but  you've  got  to  make 
him  mad  first." 

Miss  Chris  brought  her  knitting  to  the  lamp,  and 
Eugenia,  sitting  with  her  hands  in  her  lap,  followed 
the  conversation  with  abstracted  interest. 

It  was  not  until  Dudley  rose  to  go  that  he  came 
over  to  her  and  took  her  hand. 

"  Good-night,"  he  said,  his  ardent  eyes  upon  her. 
"I'm  to  have  that  ride  to-morrow?  You  know  I 
came  for  it." 

The  unreasoning  blood  beat  in  her  face  as  she 
turned  away,  and  she  was  conscious  that  he  had 
seen  and  misconstrued  the  senseless  blush.     It  was 


240  The  Voice  of  the  People 

her  misfortune  to  go  red  or  pale  without  cause  and 
to  show  an  impassive  face  above  deep  emotion. 

The  next  morning  she  rode  with  Dudley,  and  the 
day  after  he  came  out  before  returning  to  Richmond. 
She  experienced  a  certain  pleasure  in  the  contact 
with  his  bouyant  optimism,  but  it  was  not  without  a 
sensation  of  relief  that  she  watched  him  depart  after 
his  last  visit.  It  seemed  to  leave  her  more  to  her- 
self— and  to  Nicholas. 

That  afternoon  she  walked  with  him  far  across 
the  fields,  and  they  laid  together  phantasmal  founda- 
tions of  their  future  lives.  Perhaps  the  chief  thing 
to  be  said  of  their  intercourse  was  that  it  was  to 
each  a  mental  stimulant  as  well  as  an  emotional  de- 
light. Eugenia's  quick,  untutored  mind,  which  had 
run  to  seed  like  an  uncultivated  garden,  blossomed 
from  contact  with  his  practical,  unpolished  intellect. 
He  taught  her  logic  and  a  little  law ;  she  taught  him 
poetry  and  passion.  He  argued  his  cases  to  her  and 
swept  her  back  into  the  days  of  his  old  political 
dreams — dreams  from  which  he  had  awakened,  but 
which  still  hovered  as  memories  in  his  waking  hours. 
Sometimes  he  brought  his  books  to  Battle  Hall,  and 
they  read  together  beneath  the  general's  unseeing 
eyes ;  but  more  often  they  sat  side  by  side  in  the  pas- 
ture  or  the  wood,  the  volume  lying  open  between 
them.  He  was  the  first  man  who  had  ever  spurred 
her  into  thought ;  she  was  the  first  woman  he  had 
ever  loved. 

As  they  walked  across  the  fields  this  afternoon 
they  drifted  back  to  the  question  of  themselves  and 
their  own  happiness.  It  was  only  a  matter  of  wait- 
ing, she  said,  of  the  patient  passage  of  time;  and 


The  Voice  of  the  People  241 

they  were  so  sure  of  each  other  that  all  else  was  un- 
important— to  be  disregarded. 

"  But  am  I  sure  of  you?  "  he  demanded. 

It  was  not  a  personal  distrust  of  Eugenia  that  he 
voiced ;  it  was  the  hardened  state  of  disbelief  in  his 
own  happiness  which  showed  itself  when  the  first 
intoxication  of  passion  was  lived  out. 

"  Why,  of  course  you  are,"  she  readily  rejoined. 
"  Am  I  not  sure  of  you  ?  You  are  as  much  mine  as 
my  eyes — or  my  hand." 

"  Oh,  I  am  different !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  A  beggar 
doesn't  prove  faithless  to  a  princess — but  what  do 
you  see  in  me,  after  all  ?  " 

She  laughed.     "  I  see  a  very  moody  lover." 

They  had  reached  a  little  deserted  spring  in  the 
pasture  called  "  Poplar  Spring,"  after  the  six  great 
poplars  which  grew  beside  it.  Eugenia  seated  her- 
self on  a  fallen  log  beside  the  tiny  stream  which 
trickled  over  the  smooth,  round  stones,  bearing 
away,  like  miniature  floats,  the  yellow  leaves  that 
fell  ceaselessly  from  the  huge  branches  above. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  know  how  I  love  you,"  he 
said  suddenly. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  insatiably  demanded. 

"  If  I  could  tell  you  I  shouldn't  love  you  as  I  do. 
There  are  some  things  one  can't  talk  about — but  you 
are  life  itself — and  you  are  all  heaven  and  all  hell 
to  me." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  hellish,"  she  put  in  provok- 
ingly. 

"  But  you  are — when  I  think  you  may  slip  from 
me,  after  all." 

The  yellow  leaves  fluttered  over  them — over  the 
16 


242  The  Voice  of  the  People 

fallen  log  and  over  the  bright  green  moss  beside 
the  little  spring.  As  Eugenia  turned  towards  him, 
a  single  leaf  fell  from  her  hair  to  the  ground. 

"  Oh !  You  are  thinking  of  Dudley  Webb !  "  she 
said,  and  laughed  because  jealousy  was  her  own 
darling  sin. 

"  Yes,  I  am  thinking "  he  began,  when  she 

stopped  him. 

"  Well,  you  needn't.  You  may  just  stop  at  once. 
I — love — you — Nick — Burr.     Say  it  after  me." 

He  shook  his  head.  Her  hand  lay  on  the  log 
beside  him,  and  his  own  closed  over  it.  As  it  did  so, 
she  contrasted  its  hardened  palm  with  the  smooth 
surface  of  Dudley  Webb's.  The  contrast  touched 
her,  and,  with  a  swift,  warm  gesture,  she  raised  the 
clasped  hands  to  her  cheek. 

"  I  told  you  once  I  liked  your  hand,"  she  said. 
"  Well— I  love  it." 

He  turned  upon  her  a  hungry  glance. 

"  I  would  work  it  to  the  bone  for  you,"  he  an- 
swered.    "  But — it  is  long  to  wait." 

"  Yes,  it  is  long  to  wait,"  she  repeated,  but  her 
tone  had  not  the  heaviness  of  his.  Waiting  in  its 
wider  sense  means  little  to  a  woman — and  in  a 
moment  she  cheerfully  returned  to  a  prophetic 
future. 

A  few  days  later  Bernard  came,  and  she  saw 
Nicholas  less  often.  Her  affection  for  her  brother, 
belonging,  as  it  did,  to  the  dominant  family  feeling 
which  possessed  her  soul,  was  filled  with  an  almost 
maternal  solicitude.  He  absorbed  her  with  a 
spasmodic,  half  selfish,  wholly  insistent  appeal.  She 
received  his  confidences,  wrote  his  letters,  and  tied 


The  Voice  of  the  People  243 

his  cravats.  Upon  his  last  visit  home  he  had  spent 
the  greater  part  of  his  time  in  Kingsborough ;  now 
he  rode  in  seldom,  and  invariably  returned  in  a 
moody  and  depressed  condition. 

"  You're  worth  the  whole  bunch  of  them,"  he 
had  said  to  her  of  other  girls,  "  you  dear  old 
Eugie." 

And  she  had  warmed  and  laid  a  faithful  hand  on 
his  arm.  It  was  characteristic  of  her  that  no  call 
for  affection  went  disregarded — that  the  sensitive 
fibres  of  her  nature  quivered  beneath  any  caressing 
hand. 

"  Do  you  really  like  me  best  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Don't  I  ?  "  He  laughed  his  impulsive,  boyish 
laugh — "  I'll  prove  it  by  letting  you  go  in  for  the 
mail  this  afternoon.     I  detest  Kingsborough !  " 

"  Oh !  No,  no,  I  love  it,  but  I  suppose  it  is  dull 
for  you." 

She  ordered  the  carriage  and  went  upstairs  to  put 
on  her  hat.  When  she  came  down  Bernard  was  not 
in  sight,  and  she  drove  off,  wondering  why  he  or  any 
one  else  should  detest  Kingsborough. 

She  performed  her  mission  at  the  post-office,  and 
was  mentally  weighing  the  probabilities  of  Nicholas 
having  finished  work  for  the  day,  when,  in  passing 
along  the  main  street,  she  saw  him  come  to  the  door 
of  his  office  with  a  round,  rosy  girl,  whom  she  recog- 
nised as  Bessie  Pollard. 

She  had  intended  to  take  him  out  with  her,  but 
as  she  caught  sight  of  his  visitor  she  gave  them  both 
a  condescending  nod  and  ordered  Sampson  to  drive 
on.  She  felt  vaguely  offended  and  sharply  irritated 
with  herself  for  permitting  it.     Her  annoyance  was 


244  The  Voice  of  the  People 

not  allayed  by  the  fact  that  Amos  Burr  stopped  her 
in  the  road  to  inform  her  that  his  wife  was  fattening 
a  brood  of  turkeys  which  she  would  like  to  deliver 
into  the  hands  of  Miss  Chris.  As  he  stood  before 
her,  hairy,  ominous,  uncouth,  she  realised  for  the 
first  time  the  full  horror  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
father  to  the  man  she  loved.  Hitherto  she  had  but 
dimly  grasped  the  idea.  Nicholas  had  been  asso- 
ciated in  her  thoughts  with  the  judge  and  her  earlier 
school  days ;  and  she  had  conceived  of  his  poverty 
and  his  people  only  in  the  heroic  measures  that  re- 
lated to  his  emancipation  from  them.  Now  she  felt 
that  had  she,  in  the  beginning,  seen  him  side  by  side 
with  his  father,  she  could  not  have  loved  him.  She 
flinched  from  Amos  Burr's  shaggy  exterior  and 
drew  back  haughtily. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  housekeeping," 
she  said.     "  You  may  ask  Aunt  Chris." 

He  spat  a  mouthful  of  tobacco  juice  into  the  dust 
and  fingered  the  torn  brim  of  his  hat. 

"  I  wish  you'd  jest  speak  to  Miss  Chris  about 
'em,"  he  returned,  "  an'  send  me  word  by  Nick."  He 
gave  an  awkward  lurch  on  his  feet. 

The  colour  flamed  in  Eugenia's  face. 

"  Aunt  Chris  will  send  for  the  turkeys,"  she  said 
hurriedly.     "  Drive  on,  Sampson." 

She  sat  splendidly  erect,  but  the  autumn  landscape 
was  blurred  by  a  sudden  gush  of  tears. 

An  hour  later  she  remembered  that  she  had 
promised  to  let  Nicholas  join  her  in  the  pasture, 
and  she  left  the  house  with  the  grievance  still  at  her 
heart. 

When  she  saw  him  it  broke  out  abruptly. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  245 

"  I  am  surprised  that  you  keep  up  with  such  peo- 
ple," she  said. 

He  looked  at  her  blankly. 

"  If  you  mean  Bessie  Pollard,"  he  rejoined,  "  she 
was  in  trouble  and  came  to  me  for  advice.  I  couldn't 
help  her,  but  I  could  at  least  be  civil.  She  was  kind 
to  me  when  I  was  in  her  father's  store." 

"  I  do  not  care  to  be  reminded  that  you  were  ever 
in  such  a  position." 

He  flinched,  but  answered  quietly: 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  have  to  face  it,"  he  said. 
"  If  you  become  my  wife,  you  will,  unfortunately, 
have  to  face  a  good  deal  that  you  might  escape  by 
marrying  in  your  own  class — I  am  not  in  your  class, 
you  know,"  he  slowly  added. 

She  was  conscious  of  a  cloudy  irritation  which  was 
alien  to  her  usually  beaming  moods.  The  figure 
of  Amos  Burr  loomed  large  before  her,  and  she 
hated  herself  for  the  discovery  that  she  was  tracing 
his  sinister  likeness  in  his  son.  No,  it  was  only  the 
hair — that  was  all,  but  she  loathed  the  obvious 
colour. 

Her  lip  trembled  and  she  set  her  teeth  into  it. 

"  You  might  at  least  allow  me  to  forget  it,"  she 
retorted. 

"  Why  should  you  wish  to  forget  it  ?  I  think  I 
shall  be  proud  of  it  when  I  have  risen  far  enough 
above  it  to  claim  you.  It  is  no  small  thing  to  be 
a  self-made  man." 

She  resented  the  assurance  of  his  tone. 

"  It  is  strange  that  you  do  not  consider  my  view 
of  it." 

"  Your  view — what  is  it  ?  " 


246  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  That  I  do  not  wish  the  man  I  love  to — to  speak 
to  that  Pollard  girl,"  she  gasped. 

"  Since  you  wish  it,  I  will  avoid  her  in  future.  She 
is  nothing  to  me ;  but  I  can't  refuse  to  speak  to  her. 
You  are  unreasonable." 

She  was  regarding  the  hovering  shade  of  Amos 
Burr. 

"  If  you  think  me  unreasonable,"  she  returned, 
"  we  may  as  well " 

He  reached  her  side  by  a  single  step  and  flung 
his  arm  about  her.  Then  he  looked  into  her  face 
and  laughed  softly. 

"  May  as  well  what — dearest  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  shook  an  obstinate  head. 

"  You  don't  love  me,"  was  her  inevitable  feminine 
challenge. 

He  laughed  again.  "  Do  I  love  you  ?  "  he  de- 
manded as  he  looked  at  her. 

She  did  not  answer,  but  the  shade  of  Amos  Burr 
melted  afar. 

Nicholas  bent  over  her  with  abrupt  intensity  and 
kissed  her  lips  until  his  kisses  hurt  her. 

"  Do  I  love  you — now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes — yes — yes."  She  freed  herself  with  a  laugh 
that  dispelled  the  lingering  cloud.  "  You  may  con- 
vince me  next  time  without  violence,"  she  affirmed 
radiantly. 

As  he  watched  her  his  large  nostrils  twitched 
whimsically.  "  You  were  saying  that  we  might  as 
well " 

"  Go  home  to  supper,"  she  finished  triumphantly. 
"  The  sun  has  set." 

When  she  left  him  a  little  later  at  the  end  of  the 


The  Voice  of  the  People  247 

avenue  she  flew  joyously  up  the  narrow  walk.  She 
was  softly  humming  to  herself,  and  as  she  stepped 
upon  the  porch  the  song  ran  lightly  into  words. 

"  I  love  Love,  though  he  has  wings, 
And  like  light  can  flee " 

she  sang,  and  paused  within  the  shadow  of  the  porch 
to  glance  through  the  long  window  that  led  into  the 
sitting-room.  The  heavy  curtains  obstructed  her 
gaze,  and  she  had  put  up  her  hand  to  push  them 
aside,  when  her  father's  voice  reached  her,  and  at  his 
words  her  outstretched  arm  fell  slowly  to  her  side. 

"  It's  that  girl  of  Jerry  Pollard's,"  he  was  saying. 
"  She's  gotten  into  trouble,  and  that  Burr  boy's 
mixed  up  in  it ;  the  young  rascal !  " 

Miss  Chris's  placid  voice  floated  in. 

"  I  can't  believe  it,"  she  charitably  murmured ; 
and  Bernard,  who  was  on  the  hearth  rug,  turned  at 
the  sound. 

"  It's  all  gossip,  you  know,"  he  said. 

Eugenia  pushed  aside  the  curtains  and  stepped 
into  the  room.  Her  hands  hung  at  her  sides,  and 
the  animation  had  faded  from  her  glance.  Her 
face  looked  white  and  drawn. 

"  It  is  not  true,"  she  said  steadily.  "  Papa,  it  is 
not  true." 

"  I — I'm  afraid  it  is,  daughter,"  gasped  the  gen- 
eral. There  was  an  abashed  embarrassment  in  his 
attitude  and  his  hands  shook.  He  had  hoped  to 
keep  such  facts  beyond  the  utmost  horizon  of  his 
daughter's  life. 

Eugenia  crossed  to  the  hearth  rug  and  stood  look- 


248  The  Voice  of  the  People 

ing  into  Bernard's  face.  She  made  an  appealing 
gesture  with  her  hands. 

"  Bernard,  it  is  not  true,"  she  said. 

He  turned  away  from  her  and,  nervously  lifting  the 
poker,  divided  the  smouldering  log.  A  red  flame 
shot  up,  illuminating  the  gathered  faces  that  stood 
out  against  the  dusk.  The  glare  lent  a  grotesque 
irony  to  the  flabby,  awe-stricken  features  of  the  gen- 
eral, brightened  the  boyish  ill-humour  in  Bernard's 
eyes,  and  played  peaceably  over  Miss  Chris's  tran- 
quil countenance. 

"  Bernard,  it  is  not  true,"  she  said  again. 

The  poker  fell  with  a  clatter  to  the  hearth ;  and 
the  noise  irritated  her.  Bernard  put  out  a  sudden, 
soothing  hand. 

"  It  is  what  they  say  in  Kingsborough,"  he  an- 
swered. 

She  turned  from  him  to  the  window,  pushed  the 
curtains  aside,  and  went  out  again  into  the  sunset. 


VI 


She  ran  swiftly  along  the  walk,  into  the  gloom  of 
the  avenue,  and  out  again  to  the  open  road.  The 
sunset  colours  were  flaming  in  the  west,  and  above 
them  a  solitary  star  was  shining.  The  fields  lay 
sombre  and  deserted  on  either  side,  but  straight 
ahead,  in  the  lighter  streak  of  the  road,  she  saw 
Nicholas's  figure  swinging  onward.  She  might 
have  called  to  him,  but  she  did  not;  she  sped  like  a 
shadow  in  his  path  until,  hearing  her  footfalls  in  the 
dust,  he  looked  back  and  halted. 

"  You!  "  he  exclaimed. 

She  came  up  to  him,  her  hand  at  her  throat,  her 
face  turned  towards  the  sunset.  For  a  moment  her 
breath  failed  and  she  could  not  speak;  then  all  the 
words  that  she  had  meant  to  say — the  appeal  to  him 
for  truth,  the  cry  of  her  own  belief  in  him — rang 
theatrical  and  ineffectual  in  her  brain. 

When  at  last  she  spoke,  it  was  to  voice  the  mere 
tripping  of  her  tongue — to  utter  words  which  belied 
the  beating  of  her  thoughts. 

"  You  must  marry  her,"  she  said,  and  it  seemed 
to  her  that  it  was  a  stranger  who  spoke.  She  did  not 
mean  that — she  had  never  meant  it. 

He  looked  at  her  blankly,  and  made  a  sudden 
movement  forward,  but  she  waved  him  off. 

"  For  God's  sake,  whom?  "  he  demanded. 

She  wished  that  he  had  laughed  at  her — that  he 


250  The  Voice  of  the  People 

had  laid  bare  the  whole  hideous  farce,  but  he  did 
not;  he  regarded  her  gravely,  with  a  grim  inquiry. 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  repeated. 

A  light  wind  sprang  up,  blowing  across  the  pas- 
ture and  whirling  the  dead  leaves  of  distant  trees 
into  their  faces.  Overhead  other  stars  came  out, 
and  far  away  an  owl  hooted. 

"  Oh!  you  know,  you  know,"  she  said,  with  a  des- 
perate anger  at  his  immobility.  "  When  I  saw  you 
with  her  to-day,  I  did  not — I  did  not " 

"  Do  you  mean  Bessie  Pollard?  "  he  asked.  His 
voice  was  hard;  it  was  characteristic  of  him  that,  in 
the  supreme  test,  his  sense  of  humour  failed  him. 
He  met  grave  issues  with  a  gravity  that  upheld 
them. 

She  bowed  her  head.  At  the  same  time  she  flung 
out  a  despairing  hand  for  hope,  but  he  did  not  no- 
tice it.  She  was  softening  to  him — if  she  had  ever 
steeled  herself  against  him — and  a  single  summons 
to  her  faith  would  have  vanquished  the  feeble  re- 
sistance. But  he  did  not  make  it — the  inflexible 
front  which  she  had  seen  turned  to  others  she  now 
saw  presented  to  herself.  He  looked  at  her  with  an 
austere  tightening  of  the  mouth  and  held  off. 

"  And  they  have  told  you  that  I  ruined  her,"  he 
said,  "  and  you  believe  them." 

"  No— no,"  she  cried;  "  not  that!  " 

His  eyes  were  on  her,  but  there  was  no  yielding 
in  them.  The  arrogant  pride  of  a  strong  man, 
plainly  born,  was  face  to  face  with  her  appeal.  His 
features  were  set  with  the  rigidity  of  stone. 

"  Who  has  told  you  this?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  true — it  is  not  true,"  she  answered ; 


The  Voice  of  the  People  251 

"  but  Bernard — Bernard  believed  it — and  he  is  your 
friend." 

Then  his  smouldering  rage  burst  forth,  and  his 
face  grew  black,  tft  was  as  if  an  incarnate  devil  had 
leaped  into  his  eyes)     He  took  a  step  forward. 

"  Then  may  God  damn  him,"  he  said,  "  for  he  is 
the  man! " 

She  fell  from  him  as  if  he  had  struck  her.  Her 
spirit  flashed  out  as  his  had  done.  The  anger  of  her 
race  shot  forth. 

"Oh,  stop!  stop!  How  dare  you!"  she  cried; 
"  for  he  tried  to  shield  you — he  tried  to  shield  you 
— he  would  shield  you  if  he  could." 

But  he  crossed  to  where  she  stood  and  caught  her 
outstretched  hands  in  a  grasp  that  hurt  her.  She 
winced,  and  his  hold  grew  gentle ;  but  his  voice  was 
brutal  in  its  passion. 

"  Be  silent,"  he  said,  "  and  listen  to  me.  They 
have  lied  to  you,  and  you  have  believed  them — you 
I  shall  never  forgive — you  are  nothing  to  me— ^noth- 
ing. As  for  him — may  God,  in  his  mercy,  damn 
him!" 

He  let  her  hands  drop  and  went  from  her  into  the 
silence  of  the  open  road. 

When  the  thud  of  his  footsteps  was  muffled  by  the 
distance  Eugenia  turned  and  went  back  through  the 
cedar  avenue.  She  walked  heavily,  and  there  was  a 
bruised  sensation  in  her  limbs  as  if  she  had  hurt  her- 
self upon  stones.  A  massive  fatigue  oppressed  her, 
and  she  stumbled  once  or  twice  over  the  rocks  in  the 
road.  Her  happiness  was  dead,  this  she  told  herself; 
telling  herself,  also,  that  it  had  not  perished  by  anger 
or  by  disbelief.     The  slayer  loomed  intangible  and 


252  The  Voice  of  the  People 

yet  inevitable— the  shade  that  had  arisen  from  the 
gigantic  gulf  between  separate  classes  which  they 
had  sought,  in  ignorance,  to  abridge.  The  pride  of 
Nicholas  was  not  individual,  but  typical — the  pride 
of  caste,  and  it  was  against  this  that  she  had  sinned 
— not  in  distrusting  his  honour,  but  in  offending  it. 
It  was  in  the  clash  of  class,  after  all,  that  their  theo- 
ries had  crumbled.  He  might  come  back  to  her 
again — she  might  go  forth  to  meet  him — but  the 
bloom  had  gone  from  their  dreams — in  the  reunion 
she  saw  neither  permanence  nor  abiding.  The 
strongest  of  her  instincts — the  one  that  made  for  the 
blood  she  bore — had  quivered  beneath  the  onslaught 
of  his  accusation,  but  had  not  bent.  Wherever  and 
whenever  tire  .sdxuggde^a  n^^ 

had  always  stood,  for  the_clan.  Be  it  right  or  wrong, 
true  oTtaTse^  it  was  hers  anashe  was  on  its  side. 

As  she  went  beneath  the  great  cedars,  their  long 
branches  brushed  her  face,  like  the  remembering 
touch  of  familiar  fingers,  and  she  put  up  her  cheek 
to  them  as  if  they  were  sentient  things.  Long  ago 
they  had  soothed  her  as  a  troubled  child,  and  now 
their  caresses  cooled  her  fever.  Underfoot  she  felt 
the  ancient  carpet  they  had  spread  throughout  the 
century — and  it  smoothed  the  way  for  her  heavy  feet. 
She  was  in  the  state  of  subjective  passiveness  when 
the  consciousness  of  external  objects  alone  seems 
awake.  She  felt  a  tenderness  for  the  twisted  box 
bushes  she  brushed  in  passing,  a  vague  pity  for  a 
sickly  moth  that  flew  into  her  face;  but  for  herself 
she  was  without  pity  or  tenderness — she  had  not 
brought  her  mind  to  bear  upon  her  own  hurt. 

Indoors  she  found  the  family  at  supper.     The 


The  Voice  of  the  People  253 

general,  hearing  her  step,  called  her  to  her  seat  and 
gave  her  the  brownest  chicken  breast  in  the  dish  be- 
fore him.  Miss  Chris  offered  her  the  contents  of  the 
cream  jug,  and  Congo  plied  her  with  Aunt  Ver- 
beny's  lightest  waffles;  but  the  food  choked  her  and 
she  could  not  eat.  A  lump  rose  in  her  throat,  and 
she  saw  the  kindly,  accustomed  faces  through  a 
gathering  mist.  She  regarded  each  with  a  certain 
intentness,  a  peculiar  feeling  that  there  were  hidden 
traits  in  the  commonplace  features  which  she  had 
never  seen  before — a  complexity  in  the  benign  can- 
dour of  Miss  Chris's  countenance,  in  the  over- 
wrought youthfulness  of  Bernard's,  in  the  apoplectic 
credulity  of  the  general's.  Familiar  as  they  were, 
it  seemed  to  her  that  there  were  latent  possibilities — 
obscure  tendencies,  which  were  revealed  to  her  now 
with  microscopic  exaggeration. 

The  general  put  his  hand  to  her  forehead  and 
smoothed  back  the  moist  hair. 

"  Ain't  you  well,  daughter?  "  he  asked  anxiously. 
"  Would  you  like  a  toddy?  " 

"  It's  nothing,"  said  Miss  Chris  cheerfully. 
"  She's  walked  too  far,  that's  all.  Eugie,  you  must 
go  to  bed  early." 

"  I  had  her  out  all  the  morning  in  the  sun,"  put 
in  Bernard,  with  an  affectionate  nod  at  Eugenia, 
"  and  she's  such  a  trump  she  wouldn't  give  out." 

"  You  must  learn  to  consider  your  sister,"  said  his 
father  testily. 

"  Oh !  I  liked  it,  papa,"  declared  Eugenia.  "  I'm 
well  and — I'm  hungry." 

Congo  brought  more  waffles,  and  she  ate  one  with 
grim  determination.     The  alert  affection  which  sur- 


254  The  Voice  of  the  People 

rounded  her — which  proved  sensitive  to  a  change  of 
colour  or  a  tremor  of  voice,  filled  her  with  a  swift 
sense  of  security.  She  felt  a  sudden  impulse  to  draw 
nearer  in  the  shelter  of  the  race — to  cling  more 
closely  to  that  unswerving  instinct  which  had  united 
individual  to  individual  and  generation  to  genera- 
tion. 

As  they  rose  from  the  table,  she  slipped  her  arm 
through  her  father's  and  went  with  him  into  the 
hall. 

"  I'm  tired,"  she  said,  stopping  him  on  his  way  to 
the  sitting-room,  "  so  I'll  go  to  bed." 

The  general  held  her  from  him  and  looked  into  her 
face. 

"  Anybody  been  troubling  you,  Eugie?  "  he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  You  dear  old  goose — no!  " 

He  patted  her  shoulder  reassuringly. 

"  If  anybody  troubles  you,  you  just  let  me  hear  of 
it,"  he  said.  "  They'll  find  out  Tom  Battle  wasn't 
at  Appomattox.  You've  got  an  old  father  and  he's 
got  an  old  sword " 

"  And  he's  hungry  for  a  fight,"  she  gaily  finished. 
Then  she  rubbed  her  cheek  against  his  brown  linen 
sleeve,  which  was  redolent  of  tobacco.  The  firm 
physical  contact  inspired  her  with  the  courage  of 
life;  it  seemed  to  make  for  her  a  bulwark  against 
the  world  and  its  incoming  tribulations. 

She  threw  back  her  head  and  looked  up  into  the 
puffed  and  scarlet  face  where  the  coarse  veins  were 
congested,  her  eyes  seeing  only  the  love  which  trans- 
figured it.  She  was  his  pet  and  his  pride,  and  she 
would  always  be  the  final  reward  of  his  long  life. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  255 

As  she  mounted  the  stairs,  he  blew  his  nose  and 
called  cheerfully  after  her : 

"  Just  remember,  if  anybody  begins  plaguing  you, 
that  I'm  ready  for  him — the  rascal." 

Once  in  her  room  she  threw  open  the  window  and 
sat  looking  out  into  the  night,  the  chill  autumn  wind 
in  her  face.  Far  across  the  fields  a  pale  moon  was 
rising,  bearing  a  cloudy  circle  that  betokened  rain. 
It  flung  long,  ghostly  shadows  east  and  west,  which 
flitted,  lean  and  noiseless  and  black,  before  the  wind. 
Overhead  the  stars  shone  dimly,  piercing  a  fine 
mist.  Eugenia  leaned  forward,  her  chin  on  her 
clasped  hands.  Beyond  the  gray  blur  of  the  pasture 
she  could  see,  like  benighted  beacons,  the  lights  in 
Amos  Burr's  windows,  and  she  found  herself 
vaguely  wondering  if  Nicholas  were  at  his  books — 
those  books  that  never  failed  him.  He  had  that 
consolation  at  least — his  books  were  more  to  him 
than  she  had  been. 

She  was  not  conscious  of  anger;  she  felt  only  an 
indifferent  weariness — a  nervous  shrinking  from  the 
brutality  of  his  rage.  His  face  as  she  had  seen  it 
rose  suddenly  before  her,  and  she  put  her  hand  to 
her  eyes  as  if  to  shut  out  the  sight.  She  saw  the 
clear  streak  of  the  highway,  the  gray  pasture,  the 
solitary  star  overhanging  the  horizon,  and  she  felt 
the  dead  leaves  blown  against  her  cheek  from  de- 
nuded trees  far  distant.  And  lighted  by  a  glare  of 
memory  she  saw  his  face — she  saw  the  convulsed 
features,  the  furrow  that  cleft  the  forehead  like  a 
seam,  the  heavy  brows  bent  above  the  half-closed 
eyes,  the  spasmodic  working  of  the  drawn  mouth. 
She  saw  the  man  in  whom,  for  its  brief  instant,  evil 


256  The  Voice  of  the  People 

was  triumphant — in  whom  that  self-poise,  which  had 
been  to  her  as  the  secret  of  his  strength,  was  tumul- 
tuously  overthrown. 

A  great  fatigue  weighed  upon  her,  as  if  she  had 
emerged,  defeated,  from  a  physical  contest.  Her 
hands  trembled,  and  something  throbbed  in  her 
temple  like  an  imprisoned  bird. 

As  she  sat  in  the  silence,  the  door  opened  softly 
and  Miss  Chris  came  in,  bearing  a  lamp  in  her  hand. 

"  Eugie,"  she  said,  peering  into  the  darkness,  "  are 
you  there?  " 

Eugenia  lowered  the  window  and  came  over  to 
the  hearth  rug,  where  she  stood  blinking  from  the 
sudden  glare  of  the  lamp.  There  were  some  half- 
extinguished  embers  amid  the  ashes  in  the  fireplace, 
and  she  threw  on  fresh  wood,  watching  while  it 
caught  and  blazed  up  lightly  over  the  old  brass 
andirons. 

Miss  Chris  set  the  lamp  on  the  table  and  came 
over  to  the  fire.  She  carried  her  key  basket  in  her 
hand,  and  the  keys  jingled  as  she  moved.  Her 
smooth,  florid  face  had  a  fine  moisture  over  it  that 
showed  like  dew  on  a  well-sunned  peach. 

"  You  aren't  worrying  about  Nick  Burr,  Eugie," 
she  said  with  the  amiable  bluntness  which  belonged 
to  her.     "  I  wouldn't  let  it  worry  me  if  I  were  you." 

Eugenia  turned  with  a  flash  of  pride. 

"  No,  I  am  not  worrying  about  him,"  she  an- 
swered. 

Miss  Chris  lifted  a  vase  from  the  mantel-piece, 
dusted  the  spot  where  it  had  stood,  and  replaced  it 
carefully. 

"  Of  course,  I  know  you've  seen  a  good  deal  of 


The  Voice  of  the  People  257 

him  of  late,"  she  went  on ;  "  but,  as  I  told  Tom,  I 
knew  it  was  nothing  more  than  your  being  play- 
mates together.  He's  a  good  boy,  and  I  don't  be- 
lieyejhat  scandal  about  him  any  more  than  I  would 
about  Bernard;  but  he's  Amos  Burr's  son,  after  all, 
though  he  has  raised  himself  a  long  way  above  him, 
and,  as  poor  Aunt  Griselda  used  to  say, '  When  all's 
said  and  done,  a  Battle's  a  Battle.' " 

Eugenia  was  looking  into  the  fire. 

"  Yes,"  she  repeated  slowly,  "  a  Battle's  a  Battle, 
after  all." 

"  That's  right,  dear.  I  knew  you'd  say  so.  I  al- 
ways declared  that  you  were  more  of  a  Battle  than 
all  the  rest  of  us  put  together — if  you  do  look  the 
image  of  a  Tucker.  Tom  was  telling  me  only  last 
week  that  he'd  leave  you  as  free  as  air  and  trust  the 
name  in  your  hands  sooner  than  he  would  in  his 
own — and  he  has  a  great  deal  of  family  pride,  you 
know,  though  he  was  so  wild  in  his  youth.  But  I 
remember  my  father  once  saying:  '  A  Battle  may  go 
a  long  way  down  the  wrong  road,  but  he'll  always 
pull  up  in  time  to  turn.' " 

Her  beautiful  eyes  shone  in  the  firelight,  and  her 
placid  mouth  formed  a  round  hole  above  her 
dimpled  chin,  giving  her  large  face  an  expression 
almost  infantile.  She  took  up  the  key  basket,  which 
she  had  placed  on  the  mantel-piece,  cast  a  glance  at 
the  pile  of  logs  to  see  if  it  had  been  replenished,  felt 
the  cover  on  the  bed,  after  inquiring  if  it  sufficed, 
and,  with  a  cheerful  "  good-night,"  passed  out,  clos- 
ing the  door  behind  her. 

Eugenia  did  not  turn  as  the  door  closed.  She 
stood  motionless  upon  the  hearth  rug,  looking  down 

17 


258  The  Voice  of  the  People 

into  the  fire.  Something  in  the  huge  old  fireplace, 
with  its  bent  andirons  supporting  the  blazing  logs, 
in  the  increasing  bed  of  embers  upon  the  bricks,  in 
the  sharp  odour  of  the  knot  of  resinous  pine  she  had 
thrown  on  with  the  hickory,  brought  before  her  the 
winter  evenings  in  Delphy's  little  cabin,  when  they 
sat  upon  three-legged  stools  and  roasted  early 
winesaps.  She  saw  the  negro  faces  in  the  glow  of 
the  hearth,  and  she  saw  Nicholas  and  herself  sitting 
side  by  side  in  the  shadow.  His  childish  face,  with 
its  look  of  ancient  care,  came  back  to  her  with  the 
knotted  boyish  hands  that  had  carried  and  fetched  at 
her  bidding.  The  whole  wistful  little  figure  was 
imaged  in  the  flames,  melting  rapidly  into  the  boy, 
eager  to  act,  ardent  to  achieve,  who  had  bidden  her 
good-bye  on  that  November  afternoon,  and,  dissolv- 
ing again,  to  reappear  as  the  strong  man  who  had 
come  upon  her  in  Uncle  Ish's  little  shanty,  bearing 
the  old  negro's  bag  upon  his  shoulder. 

She  had  loved  him  for  his  strength,  his  vigour, 
his  gentleness — and  she  still  loved  him. 

Of  the  men  that  she  had  known,  who  was  there  so 
ready  to  assist,  so  forgetful  of  services  which  he  had 
rendered?  There  was  none  so  powerful  and  yet  so 
kind — so  generous  or  so  gentle.  An  impulse  stirred 
her  to  cross  the  fields  to  his  door  and  fling  herself 
into  the  breach  that  divided  them;  but  again  the 
phantom  in  the  flames  grew  dim  and  then  sent  out 
the  face  that  she  had  seen  that  afternoon — convulsed 
and  quivering,  with  its  flitting  sinister  likeness  to 
Amos  Burr.  A  voice  that  seemed  to  be  the  voice 
of  old  dead  Aunt  Griselda — of  her  whole  dead  race 
that  had  decayed  and  been  forgotten,   and  come 


The  Voice  of  the  People  259 

to  life  again  in  her — spoke  suddenly  from  the 
silence: 

"  When  all's  said  and  done,  a  Battle's  a  Battle." 

The  resinous  pine  blazed  up,  the  pungent  odour 
filled  the  large  room,  and  from  the  lightwood  sticks 
tiny  streams  of  resin  oozed  out  and  dripped  into  the 
embers,  turning  the  red  to  gray. 

Mingling  with  the  crackling  of  the  flames  there 
was  a  noise  as  of  the  soughing  of  the  wind  in  the 
pine  forests. 

The  hearth  grew  suddenly  blurred  before  her  eyes ; 
and  a  passion  of  grief  rose  to  her  throat  and  clutched 
her  with  the  grip  of  claws.  For  an  instant  longer 
she  stood  motionless;  then,  turning  from  the  fire, 
she  threw  herself  upon  the  floor  to  weep  until  the 
daybreak. 


VII 


When  Nicholas  left  Eugenia  it  was  to  stride 
blindly  towards  his  father's  gate.  The  rage  which 
had  stunned  him  into  silence  before  the  girl  now 
leaped  and  crackled  like  flame  in  his  blood.  His 
throat  was  parched  and  he  saw  red  like  a  man  who 
kills. 

Passing  his  home,  he  kept  on  to  Kingsborough, 
and  once  within  the  shadow  of  the  wood,  he  broke 
into  a  run,  flying  from  himself  and  from  the  goad  of 
his  wrath.  As  he  ran,  he  felt  with  a  kind  of  alien 
horror  that  to  meet  Bernard  Battle  face  to  face  in 
this  hour  would  he  to  do  murder — murder  too  mild 
for  the  man  who  had  lied  away  his  friend's  honour 
for  the  sake  of  the  whiteness  of  his  own  skin.  It  was 
the  injustice  that  he  resented  with  a  holy  rage — the 
hideous  fact  that  a  clean  man  should  be  spotted  to 
save  an  unclean  one  the  splashing  he  merited. 

And  Eugenia  also — he  hated  Eugenia  that  he 
had  kept  her  image  untarnished  in  his  thoughts ; 
that  he  had  allowed  the  desire  for  no  other  woman 
to  shadow  it.  He  had  held  himself  as  a  temple  for 
the  worship  of  her;  he  had  permitted  no  breath  of 
defilement  to  blow  upon  the  altar — and  this  was  his 
reward.  This — that  the  woman  he  loved  had  hurled 
the  first  stone  at  the  mere  lifting  of  a  Pharisaical 
finger — that  she  had  loved  him  and  had  turned 
from  him  when  the  first  word  was  uttered — as  she 
would  not  have  turned  from  the  brother  of  her  blood 


The  Voice  of  the  People  261 

had  he  been  damned  in  Holy  Writ.  It  was  for  this 
that  he  hated  her. 

The  light  of  the  sunset  shining  through  the  wood 
fell  dull  gold  on  his  pathway.  A  strong  wind  was 
blowing  among  the  trees,  and  the  dried  leaves  were 
torn  from  the  boughs  and  hurled  roughly  to  the 
earth,  when  they  sped  onward  to  rest  against  the 
drifts  by  the  roadside.  The  sound  of  the  wind  was 
deep  and  hoarse  like  the  baying  of  distant  hounds, 
and  beneath  it,  in  plaintive  minor,  ran  the  sighing  of 
the  leaves  before  his  footsteps.  Through  the  wood 
came  the  vague  smells  of  autumn — a  reminiscent 
waft  of  decay,  the  reek  of  mould  on  rotting  logs, 
the  effluvium  of  overblown  flowers,  the  healthful 
smack  of  the  pines.  By  dawn  frost  would  grip  the 
vegetation  and  the  wind  would  lull ;  but  now  it 
blew,  strong  and  clear,  scattering  before  it  withered 
growths  and  subtle  scents  of  death. 

Out  of  the  wood,  Nicholas  came  on  the  highway 
again,  and  turned  to  where  the  afterglow  burnished 
the  windows  of  Kingsborough.  He  followed  the 
road  instinctively — as  he  had  followed  it  daily  from 
his  childhood  up,  beating  out  the  impression  of  his 
own  footsteps  in  the  dust,  obliterating  his  old,  even 
tracks  by  the  reckless  tramp  of  his  delirium. 

When  he  reached  the  college  grounds  he  paused 
from  the  same  dazed  impulse  and  looked  back  upon 
the  west  through  the  quiet  archway  of  the  long  brick 
building.  The  place  was  desolate  with  the  desola- 
tion of  autumn.  Through  the  funereal  arch  he  saw 
the  sunset  barred  by  a  network  of  naked  branches, 
while  about  him  the  darkening  lawn  was  veiled  with 
the  melancholy  drift  of  the  leaves.     The  only  sound 


262  The  Voice  of  the  People 

of  life  came  from  a  brood  of  turkeys  settling  to 
roost  in  a  shivering  aspen. 

He  turned  and  walked  rapidly  up  the  main  street, 
where  a  cloud  of  dust  hung  suspended.  Past  the 
court-house,  across  the  green,  past  the  little  white- 
washed gaol,  where  in  a  happier  season  roses 
bloomed — out  into  the  open  country  where  the 
battlefields  were  grim  with  headless  corn  rows — he 
walked  until  he  could  walk  no  further,  and  then 
wheeled  about  to  retrace  heavily  his  way.  His  rage 
was  spent;  his  pulses  faltered  from  fatigue,  and  the 
red  flashes  faded  from  before  his  eyes. 

When  he  reached  home  supper  was  over,  and 
Nannie  sat  sewing  in  the  little  room  adjoining  the 
kitchen. 

"  You're  late  for  supper,"  she  said  idly  as  he  en- 
tered. "  Sairy  Jane's  gone  to  bed  with  a  headache 
and  ma's  in  a  temper.  I'll  get  you  something  as 
soon  as  I've  done  this  seam." 

"  I've  had  supper,"  he  answered  shortly,  adding 
from  force  of  habit,  "  where's  ma  ?  " 

Nannie  motioned  towards  the  kitchen  and  drew 
a  little  nearer  the  lamp,  while  Nicholas  left  the  room 
in  search  of  his  stepmother. 

Marthy  Burr,  a  pile  of  newly  dug  potatoes  on 
the  floor  beside  her,  was  carefully  sorting  them  be- 
fore storing  them  for  winter  use.  The  sound  ones 
she  laid  in  a  basket  at  her  right  hand,  those  that 
were  of  imperfect  growth  or  showed  signs  of  decay 
she  threw  into  a  hamper  that  was  kept  in  the  kitchen 
closet. 

"  You  ought  to  make  Jubal  do  this,"  said  Nicholas 
as  he  entered. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  263 

"  I  wouldn't  trust  the  thickest  skinned  potato 
in  the  field  in  his  hands,"  returned  Marthy  sharply. 
"  He  an'  yo'  pa  made  out  to  store  'em  last  year,  an' 
when  I  went  to  look  in  the  first  barrel,  the  last  one 
of  'em  had  rotted." 

"  Let  them  rot,"  said  Nicholas  harshly.  "  I 
be  damned  if  I'd  care.  You  don't  eat  them,  any- 
way." 

"  I  reckon  if  I  was  a  man  I  might  consarn  myself 
'bout  the  things  that  tickle  my  own  palate — an' 
'taters  ain't  one  of  'em,"  was  his  stepmother's  re- 
tort. "  But,  being  a  woman,  it  seems  I've  got  to 
spend  my  life  slavin'  for  other  folks'  stomachs.  But 
you're  yo'  Uncle  Nick  Sales  all  over  again ;  '  Don't 
you  get  up  befo'  day  to  set  that  dough,  Marthy,'  he'd 
say,  but  when  the  bread  came  on  flat  as  a  pancake, 
he'd  look  sourer  than  all  the  rest." 

"What  was  my  Uncle  Nick  Sales  like?"  asked 
Nicholas  indifferently.  He  knew  the  name,  but  he 
had  never  heard  the  man's  story. 

"  All  book  larnin'  an'  mighty  little  sense — just 
like  you,"  replied  his  stepmother  with  repressed 
pride  in  her  voice.  "  Could  read  the  Bible  in  an 
outlandish  tongue  an'  was  too  big  a  fool  to  come  in 
out  of  the  rain.  He  used  to  sit  up  all  night  at  his 
books — an'  fall  asleep  the  next  day  at  the  plough. 
He  was  the  wisest  fool  I  ever  see." 

"  Poor  fool !  "  said  Nicholas  softly.  It  was  the 
epitaph  over  the  unmarked  grave  of  that  other  mem- 
ber of  his  race  who  had  blazed  the  thorny  path 
before  him.  A  strange,  pathetic  figure  rose  suddenly 
in  his  vision — -a  man  with  a  great  brow  and  a  twisted 
back,  with  brawny,  knotted  hands — an  unlearned 


264  The  Voice  of  the  People 

student  driving  the  plough,  an  ignorant  philosopher 
dragging  the  mire. 

"  Poor  fool !  "  he  said  again.  "  What  did  his 
learning  do  for  him  ?  " 

"  It  killed  him,"  returned  his  stepmother  shortly. 

She  stood  before  him  wiping  her  gnarled  hands 
on  her  soiled  apron.  His  gaze  fell  upon  her,  and 
he  wondered  angrily  whence  sprung  her  indomitable 
energy — the  energy  that  could  expend  itself  upon 
potatoes.  Her  face  was  sharpened  until  it  seemed 
to  become  all  feature — there  were  hollows  in  the 
narrow  temples,  and  where  the  pale,  thin  hair  was 
drawn  tightly  over  the  head  he  could  trace  the 
prominent  bones  of  the  skull. 

As  he  looked  at  her  his  own  petty  suffering  was 
overshadowed  by  the  visible  tragedy  of  her  life — 
the  sordid  tragedy  where  unconsciousness  was 
pathos.  He  reached  out  quickly  and  took  a  corner 
of  her  apron  in  his  hand.  It  was  the  strongest 
demonstration  of  affection  he  had  ever  made  to 
her. 

"  I'll  sort  them,  ma,"  he  said  lightly.  "  There's 
not  a  speck  in  the  lot  of  them  too  fine  for  my  eyes." 
And  he  knelt  down  beside  the  earthy  heap. 

But  when  he  went  up  to  his  room  an  hour  later 
and  lighted  his  kerosene  lamp,  it  was  not  of  his  step- 
mother that  he  was  thinking — nor  was  it  of  Eugenia. 
His  stiffened  muscles  contracted  in  physical  pain, 
and  his  brain  was  deadened  by  the  sense  of  unutter- 
able defeat.  The  delirium  of  his  anger  had  passed 
away ;  the  fever  of  his  skin  had  chilled  beneath  the 
cold  sweat  that  broke  over  him — in  the  reaction 
from  the  madness  that  had  gripped  him  he  was  con- 


The  Voice  of  the  People  265 

scious  of  a  sanity  almost  sublime.  The  habitual 
balance  of  his  nature  had  swung  back  into  place. 

He  got  out  his  books  and  arranged  them  as  usual 
beside  the  lamp.  Then  he  took  up  the  volume  he 
had  been  reading  and  held  it  unopened  in  his  hands. 
He  stared  straight  before  him  at  the  whitewashed 
wall  of  the  little  room,  at  the  rough  pine  bedstead, 
at  the  crude  washstand,  at  the  coloured  calendar 
above. 

On  the  unearthly  whiteness  of  the  wall  he  beheld 
the  pictured  vision  of  that  other  student  of  his  race 
— the  kinsman  who  had  lived  toiling  and  had  died 
learning.  He  came  to  him  a  tragic  figure  in  mire- 
clotted  garments — a  youth  with  aspiring  eyes  and 
muck-stained  feet.  He  wondered  what  had  been  his 
history — that  unknown  labourer  who  had  sought 
knowledge — that  philosopher  of  the  plough  who  had 
died  in  ignorance. 

"  Poor  fools !  "  he  said  bitterly,  "  poor  fools  !  "  for 
in  his  vision  that  other  student  walked  not  alone. 

The  next  morning  he  went  into  Kingsborough  at 
his  usual  hour,  and,  passing  his  own  small  office, 
kept  on  to  where  Tom  Bassett's  name  was  hung. 

It  was  county  court  day,  and  the  sheriff  and  the 
clerk  of  the  court  were  sitting  peaceably  in  arm- 
chairs on  the  little  porch  of  the  court-house.  As 
Nicholas  passed  with  a  greeting,  they  turned  from 
a  languid  discussion  of  the  points  of  a  brindle 
cow  in  the  street  to  follow  mentally  his  powerful 
figure. 

"  I  reckon  he's  got  more  muscle  than  any  man  in 
town,"  remarked  the  sheriff  in  a  reflective  drawl. 
"  Unless  Phil  Bates,  the  butcher,  could  knock  him 


266  The  Voice  of  the  People 

out.  Like  to  see  'em  at  each  other,  wouldn't  you?  " 
he  added  with  a  laugh. 

The  clerk  carefully  tilted  his  chair  back  against 
the  wall  and  surveyed  his  outstretched  feet.  "  Like 
to  live  to  see  him  stumping  this  State  for  Congress," 
he  replied.  "  There  goes  the  brainiest  man  these 
parts  have  produced  since  before  the  war — the  peo- 
ple want  their  own  men,  and  it's  time  they  had  'em." 

Nicholas  passed  on  to  Tom's  office,  and,  finding 
it  empty,  turned  back  to  the  judge's  house,  where 
he  found  father  and  son  breakfasting  opposite  each 
other  at  a  table  bright  with  silver  and  chrysanthe- 
mums. 

They  hospitably  implored  him  to  join  them,  but 
he  shook  his  head,  motioning  away  the  plate  which 
old  Caesar  would  have  laid  before  him. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  Tom  if  he  had  heard  this — this 
lie  about  me,"  he  said  quickly. 

Tom  looked  up,  flushing  warmly. 

"  Why,  who's  been  such  a  blamed  fool  as  to  tell 
you  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  You  have  heard  it  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  worth  hearing.  I  called  Jerry  Pollard 
up  at  once,  and  he  swore  he  was  ah  wrong — the  girl 
herself  exonerates  you.     Nobody  believed  it." 

Nicholas  crushed  the  brim  of  his  hat  in  a  sudden 
grip. 

"  Some  believe  it,"  he  returned  slowly.  He  sat 
down  at  the  table,  smiling  gratefully  at  the  judge's 
protestations. 

"  They  aren't  all  like  you,  sir,"  he  declared.  "  I 
wish  they  were.  This  world  would  be  a  little  nearer 
heaven — a  little  less  like  hell." 


The  Voice  of  the  People  267 

There  was  a  trail  of  lingering  bitterness  in  his 
voice,  and  in  a  moment  he  added  quickly :  "  Do  you 
know,  I'd  like  to  get  away  for  a  time.  I've  changed 
my  mind  about  caring  to  live  here.  If  they'd  send 
me  up  to  the  legislature  next  year,  I'd  make  a  new 
beginning." 

The  judge  shook  his  head. 

"  I  doubt  the  wisdom  of  it,  my  boy,"  he  said.  But 
Tom  caught  at  the  suggestion. 

"  Send  you,"  he  repeated.  "  Of  course ;  they'll 
send  you  from  here  to  Jericho,  if  you  say  so.  Why, 
there's  no  end  to  your  popularity  among  men. 
Where  the  ladies  are  concerned,  I  modestly  admit 
that  I  have  the  advantage  of  you;  but  they  can't 
vote,  God  bless  them  !  " 

"  You're  welcome  to  all  the  good  they  may  bring 
you,  old  boy,"  was  Nicholas's  unchivalrous  retort. 

"  Oh,  you're  jealous,  Nick !  "  twitted  Tom  gaily. 
"  They  don't  take  kindly  to  your  carrot  locks.  Now, 
I've  inherited  a  way  with  them,  eh,  dad  ?  " 

The  judge  complacently  buttered  his  buckwheats. 
There  was  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes  and  a  quiver  at  the 
corner  of  his  classic  mouth. 

"  It  was  the  only  inheritance  I  wasn't  able  to 
squander  in  my  wild  oats  days,"  he  returned.  "  May 
you  cherish  it,  my  boy,  as  carefully  as  your  father 
has  done.  It  would  be  a  dull  world  without  .the 
women." 

"  And  a  peaceable  one,"  added  Nicholas  viciously. 

"  We  owe  them  much,"  said  the  judge,  pour- 
ing maple  syrup  from  the  old  silver  jug.  "  If  Helen 
of  Troy  set  the  world  at  war,  she  made  men  heroes." 

"  You  can't  get  the  pater  to  acknowledge  that  the 


268  The  Voice  of  the  People 

fair  things  are  ever  wrong,"  put  in  Tom  protestingly. 
"  He  would  have  proved  Eve's  innocence  to  the  Al- 
mighty. If  a  woman  murdered  ten  men  before  his 
eyes  he'd  lay  the  charge  on  the  devil  and  acquit 
her." 

The  judge  shook  his  head  with  a  laugh. 

"  I  might  merely  argue  that  the  queen  can  do  no 
wrong,"  he  suggested. 

When  Tom  had  finished  his  breakfast,  Nicholas 
walked  with  him  to  his  office,  and,  seeing  Bessie 
Pollard,  red-eyed  and  drooping  in  her  father's  door, 
he  lingered  an  instant  and  held  out  his  hand.  There 
was  defiant  sympathy  in  his  act — disdain  of  the 
judgment  of  Kingsborough — and  of  General  Battle, 
who  was  passing — and  pity  for  a  bruised  common 
thing  that  looked  at  him  with  beautiful,  mindless 
eyes. 

"  You  aren't  looking  bright  to-day,"  he  said 
kindly,  "  but  things  will  pull  through,  never  fear 
— they  always  do,  if  you  give  them  time." 

Then  he  responded  coolly  to  the  general's  cool 
nod,  and,  rejoining  Tom,  they  went  on  arm  in  arm. 
In  his  large-minded  manhood  it  had  not  occurred  to 
him  to  connect  the  girl  with  the  wrong  done  upon 
him — he  knew  her  to  be  more  weak  than  wicked, 
and,  in  her  soft,  pretty  sadness,  she  reminded  him  of 
a  half-drowned  kitten. 

During  the  next  few  months  he  frequently  passed 
Eugenia  in  the  road.  Sometimes  he  did  not  look  at 
her,  and  again  he  met  her  wistful  gaze  and  spoke 
without  a  smile.  Once  he  checked  an  eager  move- 
ment towards  him  because  he  had  met  Bernard  just 
ahead — and  he  hated  him;  once  he  had  seen  the 


The  Voice  of  the  People  269 

carriage  in  the  distance  and  had  waited  in  a  pas- 
sionate rush  of  remorse  and  love  to  hear  her  laughter 
as  she  talked  with  Dudley  Webb.  They  had  faced 
each  other  at  last  with  resolute  eyes  and  unswerv- 
ing wills.  On  his  side  was  the  pride  of  an  innocent 
man  accused,  the  bitterness  of  a  proud  man  on  an 
inferior  plane ;  on  hers,  the  recollection  of  that  wild 
evening  in  the  road,  and  the  belated  recognition  of 
the  debt  she  owed  her  race. 

In  the  winter  she  went  up  to  Richmond  and  he 
slowly  forced  himself  to  renounce  her.  He  began 
to  see  his  old  dream  as  it  was — an  emotional  chimera; 
a  mental  madness.  As  the  year  grew  on  he 
watched  his  long  hope  wither  root  and  branch,  until, 
with  the  resurrection  of  the  spring,  it  lay  still  because 
there  was  no  life  left  that  might  put  forth.  And 
when  his  hope  was  dead  he  told  himself  that  his  un- 
happiness  died  with  it,  that  he  might  throw  himself 
single-hearted  into  the  work  of  his  life. 


VIII 

The  year  passed  and  was  done  with — leaves 
budded,  expanded,  fell  again.  Eugenia  watched 
their  growth,  fulfilment,  and  decay  as  she  had 
watched  them  other  seasons,  though  with  eyes  a 
thought  widened  by  experience,  a  shade  darkened 
by  tears.  At  first  she  had  suffered  wildly,  then  pas- 
sively, at  last  resignedly.  The  colour  rebloomed  in 
her  cheek,  the  gaiety  rang  back  to  her  voice,  for  she 
was  young,  and  youth  is  ever  buoyant. 

There  was  work  for  her  to  do  on  the  place,  and 
she  did  it  cheerfully.  She  studied  farming  with  her 
father  and  overhauled  the  methods  of  the  overseer, 
to  the  man's  annoyance  and  the  general's  delight. 
"  She  tells  me  Varly  isn't  scientific,"  roared  the 
general  with  rapturous  enjoyment.  "  A  scientific 
overseer!  She'll  be  asking  for  an  honest  politician 
next." 

"  I'm  sure  Varly  is  a  very  respectable  man,"  pro- 
tested Miss  Chris  in  her  usual  position  of  defence. 
"  The  servants  were  always  devoted  to  him  before 
the  war — that  says  a  good  deal." 

"  There's  not  a  better  man  in  the  county,"  ad- 
mitted the  general,  "  or  a  worse  farmer.  Here  I've 
let  him  go  down  hill  at  his  own  gait  for  more  than 
thirty  years,  to  be  pulled  up  in  the  end  by  a  chit  of 
a  girl.  I  wouldn't,  if  I  were  you,  Eugie.  He's  old 
and  he's  slow." 

"Oh!   I'll  promise  not  to  hurt  him,"  returned 


The  Voice  of  the  People  271 

Eugenia.  "  I  save  him  a  lot  of  hard  work,  and  he 
likes  it." 

She  drew  on  her  loose  dogskin  gloves  and  went 
out  to  overlook  the  shucking  of  the  corn. 

With  the  exercise  in  the  open  air  she  had  gained 
in  suppleness  and  brilliancy.  It  was  the  outdoor 
work  that  saved  her  spirit  and  her  beauty — that  gave 
her  endurance  for  the  indoor  monotony  and  magni- 
fied the  splendid  optimism  of  her  saddest  hour.  She 
was  a  woman  born  for  happiness;  when  the  Fates 
failed  to  accord  it  she  defied  them  and  found  her 
own. 

In  the  autumn  news  came  that  Nicholas  was 
elected  to  the  General  Assembly.  The  judge 
brought  it,  riding  out  on  a  bright  afternoon  to  chat 
with  the  general  before  the  blazing  logs. 

"  The  lad  has  a  future,"  said  the  judge  with  a 
touch  of  pride.  "  Brains  don't  grow  on  blackberry 
vines ;  "  then  he  laughed  softly.  "  Caesar  voted  for 
him,"  he  added. 

The  general  slapped  his  knee. 

"  Csesar  is  a  gentleman,"  he  exclaimed.  "  He  was 
the  first  darkey  in  Kingsborough  to  vote  the  Demo- 
cratic ticket.  I  walked  up  to  the  polls  with  him 
and  the  boys  cheered  him.  You  weren't  there, 
George." 

The  judge  shook  his  head. 

"They  called  it  undue  influence,"  he  said;  "  but, 
on  my  honour,  Tom,  I  never  spoke  a  political  word 
to  Caesar  in  my  life.  Of  course  he'd  heard  me  talk 
with  Tom  at  dinner.  He'd  heard  me  say  that  the 
man  of  his  race  who  would  dare  to  vote  with  white 
men  would  be  head  and  shoulders  above  his  people, 


272  The  Voice  of  the  People 

a  man  of  mind,  a  man  that  any  gentleman  in  the 
county  would  be  proud  to  shake  by  the  hand — but 
seek  to  influence  Caesar!     Never,  sir!  " 

"  Now,  there's  that  Ishmael  of  mine,"  said  the 
general  aggrievedly.  "  He  no  sooner  got  his  vote 
than  he  cast  it  just  to  spite  me.  I  told  the  fool  he 
didn't  know  any  more  about  voting  than  the  old 
mule  Sairy  did,  and  he  said  he  didn't  have  to  know 
'  nothin'  cep'n  his  name.'  He  forgot  that  when  they 
challenged  him  at  the  polls,  but  he  voted  all  the  same 
— voted  in  my  face,  sir." 

They  lighted  their  pipes  and  sang  the  praises 
of  that  idyllic  period  which  they  called  "  before  the 
war,"  while  Eugenia  crept  away  into  the  shadows. 

She  was  glad  that  Nicholas  would  go;  glad,  glad, 
glad — so  glad  that  she  wept  a  little  in  the  cold  of  a 
dark  corner. 

A  week  later  Dudley  came  down,  and  she  met 
him  with  a  friendliness  that  dismayed  and  disarmed 
him.  Could  a  woman  be  so  frankly  cordial  with  a 
man  she  loved?  Could  she  face  a  passion  that  in- 
spired her  with  such  serene  self-poise?  He  ques- 
tioned these  things,  but  he  did  not  hesitate.  He 
was  of  a  Virginian  line  of  lovers,  and  he  charged  in 
courtship  as  courageously  as  his  father  had  charged 
in  battle.  He  was  magnificent  in  his  youthful  ar- 
dour, and  so  fitted  for  success  that  it  seemed  already 
to  cast  a  prophetic  halo  about  his  head. 

"  You  are  superb,"  Eugenia  had  said,  half  inso- 
lently, looking  up  at  him  as  he  stood  in  the  firelight. 
"  How  odd  that  I  never  noticed  it  before." 

"  You  are  looking  at  yourself  in  my  eyes,"  he  re- 
turned gallantly. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  273 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  There  are  so  many  women  who  like  handsome 
men,  it's  a  pity  you  can't  fall  in  love  with  one,"  she 
said  coldly. 

"  Am  I  to  infer  that  you  prefer  ugly  men?  "  he 
questioned. 

"  I — oh!  I  am  too  good-looking  to  care,"  she 
replied. 

She  sprang  up  suddenly  and  stood  beside  him. 
"  We  do  look  well  together,"  she  said  with  grave 
audacity. 

He  laughed.  "  I  am  flattered.  It  may  weigh 
with  you  in  your  future  plans.  Come,  Eugie,  let 
me  love  you! " 

But  her  mood  changed  and  she  dragged  him  with 
her  out  into  the  autumn  fields. 

In  the  last  days  of  November  a  long  rain  came — 
a  ruinous  autumnal  rain  that  beat  the  white  roads 
into  livid  streams  of  mud  and  sent  the  sad  dead 
leaves  in  shapeless  tatters  to  the  earth.  The  glory 
of  the  fall  had  brought  back  the  glory  of  her  love ; 
its  death  revived  the  agony  of  the  long  decay. 

At  night  the  rain  throbbed  upon  the  tin  roof  above 
her.  Sometimes  she  would  turn  upon  her  pillow, 
stuffing  the  blankets  about  her  ears ;  but,  muffled  by 
the  bedclothes,  she  heard  always  the  incessant  mel- 
ancholy sound.  She  heard  it  beating  on  the  naked 
roof,  rushing  tumultuously  to  the  overflowing  pipes, 
dripping  upon  the  wet  stones  of  the  gutter  below, 
sweeping  from  the  earth  dead  leaves,  dead  blossoms, 
dead  desires. 

In  the  day  she  watched  it  from  the  windows.  The 
flower  beds,  desolated,  formed  muddy  fountains,  the 
18 


274  The  Voice  of  the  People 

gravel  walk  was  a  shining  rivulet,  the  sycamore  held 
three  yellow  leaves  that  clung  vainly  to  a  sheltered 
bough,  the  aspen  faced  her,  naked — only  the  im- 
penetrable gloom  of  the  cedars  was  secure — sombre 
and  inviolate. 

On  the  third  day  she  went  out  into  the  rain; 
splashing  miles  through  the  heavy  roads  and  return- 
ing with  a  glow  in  her  cheeks  and  the  savour  of  the 
dampness  in  her  mouth. 

Taking  off  her  wet  garments  she  carried  them  to 
the  kitchen  to  be  dried.  With  the  needed  exercise, 
her  cheerful  animation  had  returned. 

In  the  brick  kitchen  a  gloomy  group  of  negroes 
surrounded  the  stove. 

"  Dar's  gwine  ter  be  a  flood  an'  de  ea'th  hit's 
gwine  ter  pass  away,"  lamented  Aunt  Verbeny,  lift- 
ing the  ladle  from  a  huge  pot,  the  contents  of  which 
she  was  energetically  stirring.  "  Hit's  gwine  ter 
pass  away  wid  de  men  en  de  cattle  en  de  crops,  en 
de  black  folks  dey's  gwine  ter  pass  des'  de  same  es 
dey  wuz  white." 

"  I'se  monst'ous  glad  I'se  got  religion,"  remarked 
a  strange  little  negro  woman  who  had  come  over 
to  sell  a  string  of  hares  her  husband  had  shot.  "  D« 
Lawd  He  begun  ter  git  mighty  pressin'  las'  mont', 
so  I  let  'im  have  His  way.  Blessed  be  de  name  er 
de  Lawd !     Is  you  a  church  member,  Sis  Delphy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Lawd,  a  full-breasted  member,"  responded 
Delphy,  clamping  the  declivity  of  her  bosom. 

"  I  ain'  got  much  use  fur  dis  yer  gittin'  en  ungit- 
tin'  er  salvation,"  put  in  Uncle  Ish  from  the  table 
where  he  was  eating  a  late  dinner  of  Aunt  Verbeny's 
providing.     "  Dar's  too  much  morikeyin'  mixed  up 


The  Voice  of  the  People  275 

wid  it  fur  me.  Hit's  too  much  de  work  er  yo'  j'ints 
ter  make  me  b'lieve  hit's  gwine  ter  salivate  yo'  soul. 
When  my  wife,  Mandy,  wuz  'live,  I  tuck  'n  cyar'ed 
her  long  up  ter  one  er  dese  yer  revivals,  en'  ole  Sis 
Saphiry  Baker  come  'long  gittin'  happy,  en  fo'  de 
Lawd  she  rid  'er  clean  roun'  de  chu'ch.  Naw,  suh, 
de  religion  I  wanter  lay  holt  on  is  de  religion  uv 
rest." 

"  I  ain'  never  sarved  my  Lawd  wid  laziness,"  put 
in  Aunt  Verbeny  reprovingly.  "  When  He  come 
arter  me  I  ain'  never  let  de  ease  er  my  limbs  stan'  in 
de  way.  Ef  you  can't  do  a  little  shoutin'  on  de  ea'th, 
you're  gwineter  have  er  po'  sho'  ter  keep  de  Lawd 
f'om  overlookin'  you  at  Kingdom  Come." 

The  strange  little  woman  faced  them  proudly. 
"  My  husband,  Silas,  got  religion  in  de  night  time," 
she  said,  "  an'  he  bruck  clean  thoo  de  slats.  De  bed 
ain't  helt  stiddy  sence." 

Eugenia  emerged  from  the  dusk  of  the  doorway, 
where  she  had  lingered,  and  Delphy  rose  to  take  the 
dripping  clothes. 

"  Des'  look  at  her! "  exclaimed  Aunt  Verbeny  at 
the  girl's  entrance.  "  Ain't  she  a  sight  ter  mek  a 
blin'  man  see?"  Then  she  added  to  the  strange 
little  woman,  "  Dar  ain'  no  lack  er  beaux  roun'  yer, 
needer." 

Uncle  Ish  grunted. 

"  I  ain'  seen  'em  swum  es  dey  swum  roun'  Miss 
Meely,"  he  muttered,  while  Aunt  Verbeny  shook 
her  fist  at  him  behind  the  stranger's  back.  "  De  a'r 
wuz  right  thick  wid  'em." 

"  I  reckon  dis  chile'll  be  mah'r'd  soon  es  she  sets 
her  min'  on  it,"  returned  Delphy  indignantly.    "  She 


276  The  Voice  of  the  People 

ain'  gwineter  have  ter  do  much  cuttin'  er  de  eye- 
lashes, needer.     De  beaux  come  natch'ul." 

"  Dar's  Marse  Dudley,  now,"  said  Aunt  Verbeny. 
"  I  ain'  so  ole  but  my  palate  hit  kin  taste  a  gent'mun 
a  mile  off.  Marse  Dudley  ain'  furgit  de  times  I'se 
done  roas'  him  roas'in'  years  when  he  warn'  mo'n 
er  chile.  Hit's  '  how's  yo'  health,  Aunt  Verbeny  ?  ' 
des'  de  same  es  'twuz  den." 

Eugenia  laughed  and  flung  the  heap  of  garments 
into  Delphy's  arms.  "  The  rain's  over,"  she  said; 
"  but,  Uncle  Ish,  you'd  better  get  Congo  to  fix  you 
up  for  the  night.  It  is  too  wet  for  your  rheumatism," 
and  she  ran  singing  upstairs  to  where  the  general 
was  dozing  in  the  sitting-room.  "  Wake  up,  dad ! 
it's  going  to  clear !  " 

The  general  started  heavily  from  his  sleep.  There 
was  a  dazed  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  Clear? "  he  asked  doubtfully,  "  has  it  been 
raining?  " 

Eugenia  shook  him  into  consciousness. 

"  Raining  for  three  whole  days,  and  I  believe 
vou've  slept  through  it.  Now  the  clouds  are  break- 
ing." 

"  What  is  it  the  Bible  says  about  '  the  winter  of 
our  discontent '? — that's  what  it  is." 

"  Not  the  Bible,  dear — Shakespeare." 

"  It's  the  same  thing,"  retorted  the  general  testily. 
His  speech  came  thickly  as  if  he  held  a  pebble  in  his 
mouth,  and  the  swollen  veins  in  his  face  were  livid. 

Eugenia  bent  over  him  in  sudden  uneasiness. 
"  Aren't  you  well,  papa?  "  she  asked.  "  Is  anything 
the  matter?  " 

The  general  laughed  and  pinched  her  cheek. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  277 

"  Never  better  in  my  life,"  he  declared,  "  but  I'll 
have  to  be  getting  new  glasses.  These  things  aren't 
worth  a  cent.     Find  them,  Eugie." 

Eugenia  picked  them  up,  wiped  them  on  his  silk 
handkerchief,  and  put  them  on  his  nose. 

"  You've  slept  too  long,"  she  said.  "  Come  and 
take  a  walk  in  the  hall." 

She  dragged  him  from  his  chair,  and  he  yielded 
under  protest. 

"  You  forget  that  two  hundred  pounds  can't  skip 
about  like  fifty,"  he  complained. 

But  he  followed  her  to  the  long  hall,  and  they 
paced  slowly  up  and  down  in  the  afternoon  shadows. 
At  the  end  of  ten  minutes  the  general  declared  that 
he  felt  so  well  he  would  go  back  to  his  chair. 

"  I'll  get  the  '  Southern  Planter '  and  read  to 
you,"  said  Eugenia.     "  Don't  go  to  sleep." 

She  ran  lightly  upstairs  and,  coming  down  in  a 
moment,  called  him.  He  did  not  answer  and  she 
called  again. 

The  sitting-room  was  in  dusk,  and,  as  she  entered, 
the  firelight  showed  the  huge  body  of  the  general 
lying  upon  the  hearth  rug.  A  sound  of  heavy  snor- 
ing filled  the  room. 

She  flung  herself  beside  him,  lifting  the  great  head 
upon  her  lap ;  but  before  she  had  cried  out  Miss 
Chris  was  at  her  elbow. 

"  Hush,  Eugie,"  she  said  quickly,  though  the  girl 
had  not  spoken.  "  Send  Sampson  for  Dr.  Bright, 
and  tell  Delphy  to  bring  pillows.     Give  him  to  me." 

Her  voice  was  firm,  and  there  was  no  tremor  in 
her  large,  helpful  hands. 

When  Eugenia  returned,  the  general  was  still  lying 


2  78  The  Voice  of  the  People 

upon  the  hearth  rug,  his  head  supported  by  pillows. 
Miss  Chris  had  opened  one  of  the  western  windows, 
and  a  cool,  damp  air  filled  the  room.  The  rain  had 
begun  again,  descending  with  a  soft,  purring  sound. 
Above  it  she  heard  the  laboured  breathing  from  the 
hearth  rug,  and  in  the  firelight  she  saw  the  regular 
inflation  of  the  swollen  cheeks.  The  distended 
pupils  stared  back  at  her,  void  of  light. 

As  she  stood  motionless,  her  hands  clenched  be- 
fore her,  she  followed  the  soft,  weighty  tread  of  Miss 
Chris,  passing  to  and  fro  with  improvised  applica- 
tions. The  light  fall  of  the  rain  irritated  her;  she 
longed  for  the  relentless  downpour  of  the  night. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  the  roll  of  wheels  broke  the 
stillness,  and  she  went  out  to  meet  the  doctor,  pass- 
ing, with  a  shiver,  the  unconscious  mass  on  the  floor. 

They  carried  him  to  his  bed  in  the  chamber  next 
the  parlour,  and  through  the  night  and  day  he  lay 
an  inert  bulk  beneath  the  bedclothes.  Miss  Chris 
and  Eugenia  and  the  servants  passed  in  and  out  of 
his  room.  One  of  the  dogs  came  and  sat  upon  the 
threshold  until  Eugenia  put  her  arms  about  his  neck 
and  drew  him  away.  She  had  not  wept;  she  was 
white  and  drawn  and  silent,  as  if  the  shock  had 
dulled  her  to  insensibility.  During  the  afternoon  of 
the  next  day  she  persuaded  Miss  Chris  to  rest,  and, 
softly  closing  the  door,  sat  down  in  a  chair  beside 
her  father's  bed.  It  was  the  high  white  bed  that  had 
known  the  marriage,  birth,  and  death  of  a  century 
of  Battles.  In  it  her  father  was  born;  beside  it, 
kneeling  at  prayer,  her  mother  had  died.  The 
stately  tester  frame  had  seen  generations  come  and 
go,  and  had  remained  unchanged.     Now  its  stiff 


The  Voice  of  the  People  279 

white  curtains  made  a  ghastly  drapery  above  the 
purple  face. 

Eugenia  sat  motionless,  her  thoughts  vaguely 
circling  about  the  still  figure  before  her.  It  was  not 
her  father — this  she  felt  profoundly — it  was  some 
strange  shape  that  had  taken  his  place,  or  she  was 
held  by  some  farcical  nightmare  from  which  she 
should  awake  presently  with  a  start.  The  half-used 
glasses  on  the  little  table  beside  her;  the  candle 
burned  down  in  the  socket,  and  overlooked;  the 
tightly  corked  phials  of  useless  drugs ;  the  strong 
odour  of  mustard  from  the  saucer  in  which  a  plaster 
had  been  mixed — these  things  struck  upon  her  fal- 
tering consciousness  with  a  shock  of  horrible  reality. 
The  odour  of  the  mustard  was  more  real  than  the 
breathing  of  the  body  on  the  bed. 

As  she  sat  there,  she  thought  of  her  mother — the 
pale,  still  woman  who  had  lain  beautiful  and  dead 
where  her  father  was  dying  now.  She  came  to  her 
as  from  a  faded  miniature,  wistful,  holy,  at  rest — 
blessed  and  above  reproach.  Her  heart  went  out  to 
her  as  to  one  standing  near,  hidden  by  the  long  white 
curtains — nearer  than  Aunt  Chris  asleep  upstairs, 
nearer  than  Bernard,  who  was  coming  to  her,  nearer 
than  the  great  form  on  the  bed.  Closer  than  all 
other  things  was  that  spiritual  presence.  Then  she 
thought  of  her  old  negro  mammy,  who  had  died 
when  she  was  but  a  baby — her  mother's  nurse  and 
hers.  She  recalled  the  beloved  black  face  beneath 
the  snowy  handkerchief,  the  restful  bosom  in  blue 
homespun,  the  tireless  arms  that  had  rocked  her  into 
slumber.  Then  of  Jim,  the  dog,  true  friend  and 
faithful  playmate.     All  the  lives  that  she  had  loved 


280  The  Voice  of  the  People 

and  had  been  bereft  of  gathered  closer,  closer  in  the 
gray  shadows. 

Her  gaze  passed  to  the  window,  seeking  in  the  sad 
landscape  the  little  graveyard  where  they  were  lying. 
The  rain  came  between  her  and  the  clouded  hill — 
descending  softly  and  insistently  between  her  eyes 
and  the  end  of  her  search.  Against  the  panes  the 
dripping  branches  of  the  shivering  mimosa  tree  beat 
themselves  and  moaned.  A  chill  seized  her  and,  ris- 
ing, she  went  to  the  hearth,  noiselessly  piling  wood 
upon  the  charred  and  waning  logs,  which  crumbled 
and  sent  up  a  thin  flame.  She  hurried  to  the  bed  and 
sat  down  again,  her  eyes  on  the  blanket  that  rose 
and  fell  with  the  difficult  breath.  As  she  looked  at 
the  large,  familiar  face,  tracing  its  puffed  outline  and 
gross  colouring,  it  resolved  itself  into  her  earliest 
remembrance — throughout  her  childhood  he  had 
been  her  slave  and  she  his  tyrant.  What  wish  of 
hers  had  he  ever  ignored?  With  what  demand  had 
he  ever  failed  to  comply?  At  the  end  of  the  long 
life  what  had  remained  to  him  except  herself — the 
single  compensation — the  one  reward?  The  pity  of 
it  smote  her  as  with  a  lash.  He  had  lived  with  such 
fine  bravery,  and  he  had  had  so  little — so  little,  and 
yet  more  than  myriads  of  the  men  that  live  and  die. 
That  live  and  die!  About  her  and  beyond  her  she 
seemed  to  hear  the  rushing  of  great  multitudes — the 
passing  of  the  countless  souls  through  the  gates  of 
death. 

With  a  cry  she  threw  herself  upon  her  knees,  be- 
seeching the  dull  ears. 

Six  hours  later  he  died,  and  when  the  rain  ceased 


The  Voice  of  the  People  281 

and  the  sun  came  out  they  buried  him  beside  his  wife 
in  the  little  graveyard.  For  days  after  the  funeral 
Eugenia  wandered  like  a  shadow  through  the  still 
rooms.  Bernard  had  come  and  gone,  carrying  with 
him  his  short,  sharp  grief.  Miss  Chris  had  put  aside 
her  own  sorrow  and  gone  back  to  the  management 
of  the  house  ;  only  the  girl,  worn,  idle,  tragic, 
haunted  the  reminders  of  her  loss.  Coming  upon 
the  general's  old  slouch  hat  on  the  rack,  she  had 
grasped  it  in  sudden  passionate  longing ;  at  the  sight 
of  his  half-filled  pipe  she  had  rushed  from  the  room 
and  from  the  house.  The  faint  scent  of  tobacco 
about  the  furniture  was  a  continual  torture  to  her. 
In  the  great  chamber  next  the  parlour  she  would  sit 
for  hours,  staring  at  the  cold  white  bed,  shivering 
before  the  fireless  hearth.  The  place  chilled  her  like 
a  vault;  but  she  would  linger  wretchedly  until  led 
away  by  Miss  Chris,  when  she  would  sob  upon 
that  broad,  unselfish  bosom. 

December  passed;  the  unsunned  earth  turned  it- 
self for  a  winter  rest.  January  came,  swift  and 
changeful.  With  February  a  snowstorm  swept 
from  the  north,  driving  southward.  At  first  they 
felt  it  in  the  air ;  then  the  swollen  clouds  chased  over- 
head ;  at  last  the  white  flakes  arrived,  falling,  falling, 
falling.  Through  the  night  the  storm  made  a  glist- 
ening mantle  for  the  darkness ;  through  the  day  it 
hid  sombre  sky  and  sombre  earth  in  a  spotless  veil. 
It  covered  the  far  country  to  the  distant  forests;  it 
weighted  the  ancient  cedars  until  their  green 
branches  bent  to  earth;  it  wrapped  the  gravelled 
walk  in  a  winding  sheet;  it  filled  the  hollows  of  the 
box  bushes  until  they  hardened  into  hills  of  ice.    The 


282  The  Voice  of  the  People 

snow  was  followed  by  cold  winds.  The  ground 
froze  in  the  night.  Long  icicles  formed  on  the  naked 
trees,  the  window  panes  bore  a  lacework  of  frost. 

One  afternoon,  when  the  landscape  was  white  and 
hard,  Eugenia  went  out  into  the  deserted  sheep  pas- 
ture where  the  dead  oak  stood.  A  winter  sunset 
was  burning  like  a  bonfire  in  the  west,  and  as  far  as 
the  red  horizon  swept  an  unbroken  waste  of  snow. 
The  rail  fences  shone  silver  in  their  coat  of  frost,  and 
from  the  blackened  tree  above  her  pendants  of  ice 
were  shot  with  light.  Across  the  field  a  flock  of 
gaunt  crows  flew,  casting  purple  shadows. 

Eugenia  leaned  against  the  oak  and  stared  va- 
cantly at  the  landscape — at  the  sunset,  and  at  the 
waste  of  snow,  across  which  flitted  the  demoniac 
shadows  of  the  crows.  Her  eyes  saw  only  the  deso- 
lation and  the  death  ;  they  were  sealed  to  the 
grandeur. 

A  sense  of  her  own  loneliness  swept  over  her  with 
the  loneliness  of  nature.  Her  own  isolation — the 
isolation  of  a  strong  soul  in  pain — walled  her  apart 
as  with  a  wall  of  ice.  That  assurance  of  human 
companionship  on  which  she  had  based  her  future 
seemed  suddenly  annihilated.  She  was  alone  and 
life  was  before  her. 

Then,  as  she  turned  her  gaze,  a  man's  figure  broke 
upon  the  field  of  snow,  coming  towards  her.  It  was 
Dudley  Webb,  and  in  the  resolute  swing  of  his  car- 
riage, in  the  resistless  ardour  of  his  eyes,  he  seemed 
to  reach  her  from  east  and  west,  from  north  and 
south,  surrounding  her  with  a  warmth  of  summer. 

As  he  looked  at  her  he  held  out  his  arms. 

"  Eugie — poor  girl !  dear  girl !  " 


The  Voice  of  the  People  283 

In  the  desolation  of  her  life  he  stood  to  her  as  the 
hearth  of  home  to  a  wanderer  in  the  frozen  North. 

For  an  instant  she  held  back,  and  then,  with  a  sob, 
she  yielded. 

"  I  must  be  loved,"  she  said.  "  I  must  be  loved  or 
I  shall  die." 

Around  them  the  winter  landscape  reddened  as 
the  sunset  broke,  and  above  their  heads  the  crows 
flew,  cawing,  across  the  snow. 


BOOK    IV 

THE   MAN   AND   THE   TIMES 


BOOK    IV 

THE   MAN   AND   THE   TIMES 


The  Democratic  State  Convention  had  taken  an 
hour's  recess.  From  the  doors  of  the  opera  house 
of  Powhatan  City  the  assembled  delegates  emerged, 
heated,  clamorous,  out  of  breath.  The  morning 
session,  despite  its  noise,  had  not  been  interesting 
— awaiting  the  report  of  the  Committee  on  Creden- 
tials, the  panting  body  had  fumed  away  the  opening 
hours.  Of  the  fifteen  hundred  representatives  of 
absent  voters,  the  favoured  few  who  had  held  the 
floor  had  been  needlessly  discursive  and  undeniably 
dull.  There  had  been  overmuch  of  the  party  plat- 
form, and  an  absence  of  the  wit  which  is  the  soul 
of  political  speaking;  and,  though  the  average  Vir- 
ginia Convention  is  able  to  breast  triumphantly  the 
most  encompassing  wave  of  oratory,  the  present  one 
had  shown  unmistakable  signs  of  suffocation.  At 
the  end  of  the  third  speech,  metaphor  had  failed  to 
move  it,  and  alliteration  had  ceased  to  evoke  ap- 
plause. It  had  heard  without  emotion  similes  that 
concerned  the  colour  of  Cleopatra's  hair,  and  had 
yawned  through  perorations  that  ranged  from 
Socrates  to  the  Senior  Senator,  who  sat  upon  the 
stage.     Attacks  upon  the  "  cormorants  and  harpies 


288  The  Voice  of  the  People 

that  roost  in  Wall  Street  "  had  roused  no  thrill  in  the 
mind  of  the  majority  that  knew  not  rhetoric.  The 
most  patient  of  the  silent  members  had  observed  that 
"  after  all,  their  business  was  to  nominate  a  candi- 
date for  governor,"  while  the  unruly  spirits,  as  they 
brandished  palm-leaf  fans,  had  wished  "  that  blamed 
committee  would  come  on." 

Now,  after  hours  of  restless  waiting,  they  emerged, 
stiff-kneed  and  perspiring,  into  the  blazing  sunshine 
that  filled  the  little  street.  Once  outside,  they 
opened  their  lungs  to  the  warm  air  in  an  attempt 
to  banish  the  tainted  atmosphere  of  the  interior ;  but 
the  original  motive  of  expansion  was  lost  in  a  flow 
of  words.  On  the  sidewalk  the  crowd  divided  into 
streams,  pulsing  in  opposite  directions.  Heated, 
noisy,  pervasive,  it  surged  to  dinners  in  hotels  and 
boarding-houses,  and  overflowed  where  Moloney's 
restaurant  displayed  its  bill  of  fare.  It  came  out 
talking,  it  divided  talking;  still  talking,  it  swept,  a 
roaring  sea  of  flesh,  into  the  far-off  buzz  of  the  dis- 
tance. In  a  group  of  three  men  passing  into  the 
lobby  of  the  largest  hotel,  there  was  a  slender  man 
of  fifty  years,  with  a  well-knit  figure,  half  closed,  in- 
different eyes,  and  an  emphatic  mouth.  In  the  in- 
sistent hum  of  words  about  him,  his  voice  sounded 
in  a  brisk  utterance  that  carried  a  hint  of  important 
issues. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  Hartley's  much  account,"  he 
was  saying.  "  I'd  bet  on  a  close  shave  between 
Webb  and  Crutchfield,  with  Webb  in  the  lead. 
Small  will  get  the  lieutenant-governorship,  of 
course.  Davis  ought  to  be  attorney-general,  but 
he'll  be  beaten  by  Wray.     It's  the  party  reward. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  289 

Davis  is  the  better  lawyer,  by  long  odds,  but  Wray 
has  stuck  to  the  party  like  a  burr — I  don't  mean 
a  pun,  if  you  please." 

The  younger  of  his  two  companions,  a  spirited 
youth  with  high-standing  auburn  hair,  laughed  up- 
roariously. 

"  The  trouble  is  they're  afraid  Burr  won't  stick  to 
the  party,"  he  protested.  "  Major  Simms,  who  is 
marshalling  Crutchfield's  forces,  you  know,  said  to 
me  last  night—'  Oh,  Burr's  all  right  when  you  let 
him  lead,  but  he's  damned  mulish  if  you  begin  to 
pull  the  other  way.'  " 

The  third  man,  a  sunburned  farmer,  with  a 
dogged  mouth  overhung  by  a  tobacco-stained  mus- 
tache, assented  with  a  nod. 

"  There's  not  a  better  Democrat  in  Virginia  than 
Nick  Burr,"  he  said.  "  If  the  party's  got  anything 
against  him  it  had  better  out  with  it  at  once.  He 
made  the  most  successful  chairman  the  State  ever 
had — and  he's  honest — there's  not  a  more  honest 
man  in  politics  or  out." 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  that,"  broke  in  the  auburn-haired 
young  fellow,  whose  name  was  Dickson ;  "  I'd  back 
Burr  against  any  candidate  in  the  field,  and  I'm 
sorry  he  kept  out  of  it.  I  hoped  he'd  come  forward 
with  you  to  manage  his  campaign,  Mr.  Gait,"  he 
said  to  the  first  speaker. 

Gait  waived  the  remark. 

"  Perhaps  he  thought  his  chances  too  slim  for  a 
walkover,"  he  said  in  non-committal  fashion,  as 
Burr's  best  friend.  "  I  hear,  by  the  way,  that  the 
delegation  from  his  old  home  is  instructed  to  vote 
for  him  on  the  first  ballot,  whether  or  not." 
19 


290  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  He  has  a  great  name  down  in  my  parts,"  put  in 
the  farmer.  "  The  people  think  he  has  the  agri- 
cultural interests  at  heart.  They  wanted  to  send 
him  to  Congress  in  Webb's  place,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Gait.  "  Hello,  Bassett,"  as 
Tom  Bassett  joined  him.  "  Where've  you  been? 
Lost  sight  of  you  this  morning." 

"  Oh,  I  was  out  with  the  Committee  on  Creden- 
tials. A  member?  I  should  say  not.  I  wanted 
to  hear  that  Madison  County  case,  so  I  got  made 
sergeant-at-arms.  By  the  way,  Dick,"  to  Dickson, 
"  I  hear  you  held  the  floor  for  five  minutes  this 
morning  and  got  off  five  distinct  stories  that  landed 
with  Columbus." 

"  Nonsense.  I  didn't  open  my  mouth — except  to 
call '  time  '  on  the  men  who  did.  There's  our  orator 
now." 

He  bowed  to  an  elderly  gentleman  with  a  sharply 
pointed  chin  beard  and  the  type  of  face  that  was  once 
called  clerical. 

"  Some  one  defined  oratory  the  other  day,"  said 
Gait,  "  as  the  fringe  with  which  the  inhabitants  of 
the  Southern  States  still  delighted  to  trim  their 
politics — so  I  should  call  the  gentleman  of  to-day 
'  a  political  tassel.'  He's  ornamental  and  he  hangs 
by  a  thread." 

And  he  passed  into  the  lobby  arm-in-arm  with 
Tom  Bassett. 

The  place  was  swarming  with  delegates  :  delegates 
from  country  districts,  red-faced  farmers  in  flapping 
linen  coats  and  wide-brimmed  hats ;  delegates  from 
the  cities,  dapper,  well-groomed,  cordial-voiced ; 
delegates  of  the  true  political  type,  shaven,  obse- 


The  Voice  of  the  People  291 

quious,  alert;  delegates  of  the  cast  that  belongs 
at  home,  outspoken,  honest-eyed,  remote;  stout 
delegates,  with  half-bursting  waistbands,  thin  dele- 
gates, with  shrunken  chests.  In  the  animated  throng 
there  was  but  one  condition  held  in  common — they 
were  all  heated  delegates.  In  one  corner  a  stout 
gentleman  in  a  thin  coat,  with  a  scarlet  neck  show- 
ing above  his  wilted  collar,  held  a  half-dozen  lis- 
teners with  his  eyes,  while  he  plied  them  with 
emphatic  sentences  in  which  the  name  of  Crutchfield 
sounded  like  a  refrain.  Moving  from  group  to 
group,  portly,  unctuous,  insinuating,  a  man  with  an 
oily  voice  was  doing  battle  in  the  cause  of  Webb. 

The  throng  that  passed  in  and  out  of  the  lobby 
was  continually  shifting  place  and  principles.  One 
instant  it  would  seem  that  Crutchfield  triumphed  in 
a  majority  sufficient  to  overwhelm  the  platform ;  a 
moment  more  and  the  Webb  men  were  vociferously 
in  the  ascendant.  At  the  time  it  resolved  itself  into 
a  question  of  tongues. 

"  This  is  thick,"  said  Ben  Gait,  dodging  the  straw 
hat  with  which  a  perspiring  politician  was  fanning 
himself  and  gently  withdrawing  himself  from  the 
arms  of  a  scarlet  individual  in  a  wet  collar  to  collide 
with  his  double.  "  Let's  go  to  dinner.  Ah !  there's 
the  Lion  of  Democracy — how  are  you,  Judge?" 

The  Lion,  a  striking  figure,  with  a  graceful,  snow- 
white  mane  and  a  colossal  memory,  held  out  a  tire- 
less hand.  "  Well  met,  Ben,"  he  exclaimed  in  effu- 
sive tones.  "  I've  been  on  the  outlook  for  you  all 
day.  One  moment — your  pardon — one  moment — 
Ah,  my  dear  sir !  my  dear  sir !  "  to  a  countryman  who 
approached  him  with  outstretched  hand,  "  I  am  de- 


292  The  Voice  of  the  People 

lighted.  Remember  you?  Why,  of  course — of 
course !  Your  name  has  escaped  me  this  instant ; 
but  I  was  speaking  of  you  only  yesterday.  No, 
don't  tell  me !  don't  tell  me.  I  remember.  Ah, 
now  I  have  it — one  moment,  please — it  was  after 
the  battle  of  Seven  Pines.  You  lent  me  a  horse  after 
the  battle  of  Seven  Pines.  Thank  you — thank  you, 
sir.  And  your  charming  lady,  who  made  me  the 
delicious  coffee.     My  best  regards  to  her." 

The  great  man  was  surrounded,  and  Gait  and  Bas- 
sett,  leaving  him  to  his  assailants,  passed  into  the 
dining-room. 

Glancing  hastily  down  the  long  room  filled  with 
small,  overcrowded  tables,  they  joined  several  men 
who  were  seated  near  an  open  window. 

"Hello,  Major.  Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Slate! 
How  are  things  down  your  way,  Colonel  ?  " 

A  tired  negro  waiter,  with  a  napkin  slung  over 
his  arm,  drew  back  the  chairs  and  deposited  two 
plates  of  lukewarm  soup  before  the  newcomers,  after 
which  he  lifted  a  brush  of  variegated  tissue  paper 
and  made  valiant  assault  upon  the  flies  which  over- 
ran the  tables.  Stale  odours  of  over-cooked  food 
weighted  the  atmosphere,  and  waiters  bearing  enor- 
mous trays  above  their  heads  jostled  one  another  as 
they  threaded  their  difficult  ways.  Occasionally  the 
clamour  of  voices  was  lost  in  the  clatter  of  breaking 
dishes.  Tom  Bassett  pushed  his  plate  away  and 
mopped  his  large  forehead.  He  appeared  to  have 
developed  without  aging  in  the  last  fifteen  years 
— still  presenting  an  aspect  of  invincible  respecta- 
bility. 

"  It's  ninety-two  degrees  in  the  shade,  if  it's  any- 


The  Voice  of  the  People  293 

thing,"  he  declared,  adding,  "  Has  anybody  seen 
Webb  to-day  ?  " 

The  colonel,  whose  name  was  Diggs,  nodded  with 
his  mouth  full,  and,  having  swallowed  at  his  leisure, 
proceeded  to  reply,  holding  his  knife  and  fork  poised 
for  service.  He  was  fair  to  the  point  of  insipidity, 
and  his  weak  blue  eyes  bulged  with  joviality. 

"  Shook  hands  with  him  at  the  train  last  night," 
he  said.  "  Hall  was  a  day  ahead  of  time.  Great 
politician,  Hall.  Working  for  Webb  like  a  beaver. 
Here,  waiter !     More  potatoes." 

"  I  went  to  sleep  last  night  to  the  music  of  Webb's 
men,"  said  Gait,  "  and  I  awoke  to  the  tune  of 
Crutchfield.  I  don't  believe  either  side  went  to 
bed.     My  wonder  is  whom  they  found  to  work  on." 

Slate,  a  muscular  little  man,  with  a  nervous  affec- 
tion about  the  mouth  that  gave  him  an  appearance  of 
being  continually  on  the  point  of  a  surprising  utter- 
ance, hesitated  over,  caught,  and  finally  landed  his 
speech.  "  They're  dead  against  Webb  down  my 
way,"  he  said.  "  Our  delegation  is  instructed  to 
vote  for  anybody  that  favours  retrenchment,  unless 
it's  Webb — they  won't  have  Webb  if  he  moves  to 
run  the  State  on  the  two-cent  system.  If  we'd  cast 
a  quarter  of  a  vote  for  him  they'd  drum  us  out  of 
the  district.  It's  all  because  he  voted  for  that  rail- 
road bill  in  Washington  last  winter.  We  hate  a 
railroad  as  a  bull  hates  a  red  flag." 

Major  Baylor,  a  courtly  gentleman,  with  a  face 
that  bore  traces  of  a  survival  of  the  old  Virginian 
legal  type,  spoke  for  the  first  time. 

"  Fauquier  stands  to  a  man  for  Dudley  Webb," 
he  said.     "  He  has  a  large  following  in  my  section, 


294  The  Voice  of  the  People 

and  I  understand,  by  the  way,  that  if  Hartley  with- 
draws after  the  first  ballot,  it  will  mean  a  clear  gain 
for  Webb  in  the  eighth  district.     He's  safe,  I  think." 

"  Oh,  we're  Crutchfield  strong,"  laughed  the 
colonel  good-humouredly,  reaching  for  a  toothpick 
from  the  glass  stand  in  the  centre  of  the  table.  "  We 
think  a  man  deserves  something  who  hasn't  missed 
a  convention  for  fourteen  years." 

There  was  a  spirit  of  ridicule  tempered  with  good- 
humour  about  the  group,  which  showed  it  to  be,  in 
the  main,  indifferent  to  the  result — an  attitude  in 
vivid  contrast  to  the  effervescent  partisanship  of  the 
leaders.  With  the  exception  of  the  colonel,  whose 
heart  was  in  his  dinner,  they  appeared  to  be  uncon- 
cerned spectators  of  the  events  of  the  day. 

"  Hall  was  telling  me  a  good  story  on  Webb  last 
week,"  said  Diggs,  as  he  waited  for  his  dessert.  "  It 
was  about  the  time  he  seconded  the  nomination  of 
Reed  for  attorney-general — ever  hear  it  ?  " 

"  Fire  away !  "  was  Gait's  reply,  as  he  leaned  back 
in  his  chair.  The  colonel's  stories  were  the  platform 
which  had  supported  him  throughout  a  not  unsuc- 
cessful social  career. 

"  It  was  when  Webb  was  a  young  fellow,  you 
know,  just  beginning  to  be  heard  of  as  an  advocate. 
He  was  at  his  first  convention,  eager  to  have  his 
say,  hard  to  keep  silent ;  and  he  was  asked  to  second 
the  nomination  of  Reed,  a  boyish-looking  chap  of 
twenty-six.  He  didn't  know  Reed  from  Adam,  but 
he  was  ambitious  to  be  heard  just  then — and  he'd 
have  spoken  for  the  devil  if  they'd  have  given  him 
a  chance.  Well,  he  launched  out  on  his  speech  in 
fine  style.     He  began  with  Noah — as  they  all  did  in 


The  Voice  of  the  People  295 

those  days — glided  down  the  centuries  to  Seneca 
and  Caesar,  touched  upon  Adam  Smith  and  Jeffer- 
son, and  finally  landed  in  the  arms  of  Monroe  P. 
Reed.  There  he  grew  fairly  ecstatic  over  his  sub- 
ject. He  spoke  of  him  as  '  the  lawyer  sprung,  full- 
armed,  from  the  head  of  learning,'  as  the  '  nonpareil 
Democrat  who  clove,  as  Ruth  to  Naomi,  to  the  im- 
mortal principles  of  Virginia  Democracy,'  and  in  a 
glorious  period,  he  rounded  off  '  the  incomparable 
services  which  Monroe  P.  Reed  had  rendered  the 
deathless  cause  of  the  Confederacy ! '  In  an  instant 
the  house  came  down.  There  was  a  roar  of  laughter, 
and  somebody  in  the  gallery  sang  out :  '  He  was  at 
his  mother's  breast ! ' 

"  For  a  moment  Webb  quailed,  but  his  wits  never 
left  him.  He  faced  the  man  in  the  gallery  like 
Apollo  come  to  judgment,  and  his  fine  voice  rang 
to  the  roof.  '  I  know  it,  sir,  I  know  it,'  he  thun- 
dered, '  but  Monroe  P.  Reed  was  one  of  the  stout- 
est breastworks  of  the  Confederacy.  I  ha^se  it  from 
his  mother,  sir ! ' 

"  Of  course  the  house  went  wild.  He  was  the 
youngest  man  on  the  floor,  and  they  gave  him  an 
ovation.  Since  then,  he's  learned  some  things,  and 
he's  become  the  only  orator  left  among  us." 

The  colonel  finished  hurriedly  as  his  apple  pie  was 
placed  before  him,  and  did  not  speak  again  during 
dinner. 

"  He  is  an  orator,"  said  Gait.  "  He  doesn't  use 
much  clap-trap  business  either.  I've  never  heard 
him  drag  in  the  Medes  and  Persians,  and  I  could 
count  his  classical  quotations  on  my  fingers.  Per- 
sonally, I  like  Burr's  way  better — it's  saner  and  it's 


296  The  Voice  of  the  People 

sounder — but  Webb  knows  how  to  talk,  and  he  has 
a  voice  like  a  silver  bell — Ah,  here  he  is." 

As  he  spoke  there  was  a  stir  in  the  crowd  at  the 
doorway  and  Dudley  Webb  entered  and  took  the 
nearest  vacant  seat. 

The  first  impression  of  him  at  this  time  was  one 
of  extreme  picturesqueness.  A  slight  tendency  to 
stoutness  gave  dignity  to  a  figure  which,  had  it  been 
thin,  would  have  been  insignificant,  and  served  to 
accentuate  a  peculiar  grace  of  curve  which  prevented 
his  weight  from  carrying  any  suggestion  of  the 
coming  solidity  of  middle  age.  His  rich,  rather 
oily  hair,  worn  longer  than  the  fashion,  fell  in  af- 
fected carelessness  across  his  brow  and  lent  to  his 
candid  eyes  an  expression  of  intensity  and  elo- 
quence. His  clear-cut  nose  and  the  firm,  fleshy 
curve  of  his  prominent  chin  modified  the  effect  of 
instability  produced  by  his  large  and  somewhat 
loosely  moulded  lips.  The  salient  quality  of  his 
personality,  as  of  his  appearance,  was  an  ease  of 
proportion  almost  urbane.  His  presence  in  the 
overcrowded  room  diffused  an  infectious  affability. 
Though  he  spoke  to  few,  he  was  at  once,  and  irre- 
pressibly,  the  friend  of  all.  He  did  not  go  out  of 
his  way  to  shake  a  single  hand,  he  confined  his  con- 
versation, with  the  old  absorption,  to  the  men  at  his 
table — personal  supporters,  for  the  most  part;  but 
there  was  about  him  a  pacific  emanation — an  atmos- 
phere at  once  social  and  political,  which  extended 
to  the  far  end  of  the  room  and  to  men  whose  names 
he  did  not  know. 

He  talked  rapidly  in  a  vibrant,  low-toned  voice, 
with  frequent  gestures  of  his  shapely  hands.     His 


The  Voice  of  the  People  297 

laugh  was  easy,  full,  and  inspiriting — the  laugh  of  a 
man  with  a  vital  sense  of  humour.  As  Gait  watched 
him,  he  smiled  in  unconscious  sympathy. 

"  But  for  Burr,  I  think  I'd  like  to  see  Webb 
governor,"  he  said.  "  After  all,  it  is  something  to 
have  a  man  who  looks  well  in  a  procession — and  he 
has  a  charming-  wife." 


II 


The  gas  light  and  electric  light  illuminating  the 
opera  house  fell  with  a  curious  distinction  in  tone 
upon  the  crowd  which  filled  the  building  and  over- 
flowed through  darkened  doors  and  windows.  Be- 
neath the  electric  jets  the  faces  were  focussed  to  a 
white  hush  of  expectancy,  which  mellowed  into  a 
blur  of  impatient  animation  where  the  dim  gas  flick- 
ered against  the  walls. 

Since  the  birth  of  Virginia  Democracy,  the  people 
had  not  witnessed  so  generous  an  outpouring  of 
delegates.  In  a  State  where  every  man  is  more  or 
less  a  politician,  the  convention  had  assumed  the  air 
of  a  carnival  of  males — the  restriction  of  sex  limiting 
it  to  an  expression  of  but  half  the  population. 

The  delegations  from  the  congressional  districts 
were  marshalled  in  line  upon  the  floor  and  stage, 
their  positions  denoted  by  numbered  placards  on 
poles,  while  in  the  galleries  an  enthusiastic  swarm 
of  visitors  gave  vent  to  the  opinions  of  that  tribunal 
which  is  the  public.  A  straggling  fringe  of  feet,  in 
white  socks  and  low  shoes,  suspended  from  the  red 
and  gilt  railings  of  the  boxes,  illustrated  the  peculiar 
privileges  enjoyed  in  the  absence  of  the  feminine 
atmosphere.  From  stage  to  gallery  the  play  of  palm- 
leaf  fans  produced  the  effect  of  a  swarm  of  gigantic 
insects,  and  behind  them  rows  of  flushed  and  per- 
spiring faces  were  turned  upon  the  gentleman  who 
held  the  floor. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  299 

A  composite  photograph  of  the  faces  would  have 
resulted  in  a  type  at  once  alarming  and  reassuring 
— alarming  to  the  student  of  individual  endeavour, 
reassuring  to  the  historian  of  impersonal  issues.  It 
would  have  presented  a  countenance  that  was  un- 
erringly Anglo-Saxon,  though  modified  by  the  con- 
ditions of  centuries  of  changes.  One  would  have 
recognised  instinctively  the  tiller  of  the  soil — the 
single  class  which  has  refused  concessions  to  the 
making  of  a  racial  cast  of  feature.  The  farmer 
would  have  stamped  his  impress  indelibly  upon  the 
plate — retaining  that  enduring  aspect  which  comes 
from  contact  with  natural  forces — that  integrity  of 
type  which  is  the  sole  survival  of  the  Virginian 
pioneer. 

In  the  general  face,  the  softening  influences  of 
society,  the  relaxing  morality  of  city  life  would  have 
appeared  only  as  a  wrinkle  here  and  there,  or  as  an 
additional  shadow.  Beneath  the  fluctuating  expres- 
sion of  political  sins  and  heresies,  there  would  have 
remained  the  unaltered  features  of  the  steadfast 
qualities  of  the  race. 

The  band  in  a  far  corner  rolled  out  "  Dixie,"  and 
the  mass  heaved  momentarily,  while  a  cloud  of  to- 
bacco smoke  rose  into  the  air,  scattering  into  circles 
before  the  waving  of  the  palm-leaf  fans.  Here  and 
there  a  man  stood  up  to  remove  his  coat  or  to  stretch 
his  hand  to  the  vendor  of  lemonade.  Sometimes  the 
fringe  of  feet  overhanging  the  boxes  waved  convul- 
sively as  a  howl  of  approbation  or  derision  greeted 
a  fresh  arrival  or  the  remarks  of  a  speaker.  Again, 
there  would  rise  a  tumultuous  call  for  a  party  leader 
or  a  famous  story  teller.     It  was  a  jovial,  unkempt, 


300  The  Voice  of  the  People 

coatless  crowd  that  spat  tobacco  juice  as  recklessly 
as  it  applauded  a  fine  sentiment. 

As  an  unwieldy  gentleman,  in  an  alpaca  coat, 
made  his  appearance  upon  the  platform,  there  was 
an  outburst  of  emotion  from  where  the  tenth  delega- 
tion was  seated.  The  unwieldy  gentleman  was  the 
Honourable  Cumberland  Crutchfield,  a  popular 
aspirant  to  the  governorship. 

When  Gait  entered  the  hall,  an  athletic  rhetorician 
was  declaiming  an  eulogy  which  had  for  its  theme 
the  graces  of  his  candidate.  "  You  came  too  soon," 
observed  a  man  seated  next  a  vacant  chair,  which 
Gait  took.  "  You  should  have  escaped  this  in- 
fliction." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  never  escaped  an  infliction  in 
my  life,"  responded  Gait  serenely.  "  I  cut  my  teeth 
on  them — but  here's  another,"  and  he  turned  an  in- 
different gaze  on  the  orator,  who  had  risen  upon  the 
platform.  "  Good  Lord,  it's  Gary!  "  he  groaned. 
"  Now  we're  in  for  it." 

"  Mr.  Chairman  and  gentlemen  of  the  conven- 
tion," Gary  was  beginning,  "  it  is  my  pleasant  duty 
to  second  the  nomination  of  the  Honourable  Cum- 
berland Crutchfield  of  the  gallant  little  county  of 
Botetourt.  Before  this  august  body,  before  this  in- 
comparable assemblage  of  the  intellect  and  learning 
of  the  State,  my  tongue  would  be  securely  tied  ("  I'd 
like  that  little  job,"  grunted  the  man  next  to  Gait) 
did  not  the  majesty  of  my  subject  loosen  it  to  elo- 
quence. Would  that  the  immortal  Cicero  ("  Now 
we're  in  for  it,"  breathed  Gait)  in  his  deathless  ora- 
tions had  been  inspired  by  the  illustrious  figure  of 
our  fellow-countryman.      Gentlemen,  in  the  Hon- 


The  Voice  of  the  People  301 

ourable  Cumberland  Crutchfield  you  behold  one 
whose  public  service  is  an  inspiration,  whose  private 
life  is  a  benediction — one  who  has  borne  without 
abuse  the  grand  old  title  of  the  Csesar  of  Democracy, 
and  I  dare  to  stand  before  you  and  assert  that,  had 
Csesar  been  a  Cumberland  Crutchfield,  there  would 
have  been  no  Brutus.  Gentlemen,  I  present  to  you 
in  the  Honourable  Cumberland  Crutchfield  the 
Vested  Virgin  of  Virginia!  " 

The  chairman's  gavel  fell  with  a  thud.  In  the  up- 
roar which  ensued  hats,  fans,  sticks  filled  the  air. 
The  tenth  delegation  rose  to  a  man  and  surged  for- 
ward, but  it  was  howled  down.  "  Go  it,  old  man!  " 
sang  the  boxes,  where  the  fringe  of  feet  was  wildly 
swaying,  and  "  He's  all  right!  "  screeched  the  gal- 
leries. To  a  man  who  may  be  made  fun  of  a  Vir- 
ginia convention  can  be  kind,  but  in  the  confusion 
Gary  had  sauntered  out  for  a  drink. 

After  his  exit  the  seconding  motion  flowed  on 
smoothly  through  several  tedious  speeches  ;  and 
when  the  virtues  of  Mr.  Crutchfield  had  been  suf- 
ficiently exploited  Major  Baylor  requested  the  nomi- 
nation of  Dudley  Webb.  He  spoke  warmly  along 
the  old  heroic  lines. 

"  The  gentleman  whom  I  ask  you  to  nominate  as 
your  candidate  for  governor  stands  before  his  people 
as  one  of  the  foremost  statesmen  of  his  day.  The 
father  fell  while  defending  Virginia;  the  son  has 
pledged  his  splendid  ability  and  his  untiring  youth 
to  the  same  service.  From  a  child  he  has  been 
trained  in  the  love  of  country  and  the  principles  of 
Democracy.  In  his  veins  he  carries  the  blood  of  a 
race  of  patriots.     From  his  mother's  breast  he  has 


302  The  Voice  of  the  People 

imbibed  the  immortal  milk  of  morality.  He  has 
laboured  for  his  people  in  a  single-hearted  service 
that  seeketh  not  its  own.  There  is  no  man  rich 
enough  to  buy  the  good-will  of  Dudley  Webb ;  there 
is  none  so  poor " 

"  That  he  hasn't  a  vote  to  sell  him !  "  called  a  voice 
from  the  pit. 

In  an  instant  a  chorus  of  yells  rang  out  from  stage 
to  gallery.  The  man  who  spoke  was  knocked  down 
by  a  Webb  partisan,  and  assailant  and  assailed  were 
hustled  from  the  house. 

When  the  uproar  was  subdued,  the  thin  voice  of 
Mr.  Slate  sounded  from  the  platform. 

"  What  he  doesn't  sell  he  buys,"  he  cried  in  his 
nervous,  penetrant  tones.  "  Twelve  years  ago  he 
was  accused  of  lobbying  with  full  hands  in  the  legis- 
lature. He  was  the  lobbyist  of  the  P.  H.  &  C.  rail- 
road. The  charge  was  passed  over,  not  disproved. 
What  do  you  say  to  this,  Major?  " 

In  the  effort  to  restore  order  the  chairman  grew 
purple,  but  the  major  turned  squarely  upon  his 
questioner. 

"  I  say  nothing,  sir.  It  is  unnecessary  to  assert 
that  a  gentleman  is  not  a  criminal  at  large." 

A  burst  of  applause  broke  out. 

"  I  repeat  the  charge,"  screamed  Slate. 

"  It  is  false!  "  retorted  the  major. 

"  It's  a  damned  lie! "  called  a  dozen  voices. 

"Nick  Burr  knows  it.  Ask  him!"  answered 
Slate. 

From  a  peaceable  assemblage  the  convention  had 
passed  into  pandemonium.  Two  thousand  throats 
made,  in  two  thousand  different  keys,  a  single  gigan- 


The  Voice  of  the  People  303 

tic  discord.  The  pounding  of  the  chairman  was  a 
faint  accompaniment  to  the  clamour.  In  the  first 
lull,  a  man's  voice  with  a  dominant  note  was  heard 
demanding  recognition, and  at  the  sight  of  his  tower- 
ing figure  upon  the  platform  there  was  a  short 
silence. 

"  It's  Nick  Burr!  "  called  a  man  from  Burr's  dis- 
trict.    "  Let's  hear  Nick  Burr." 

There  was  a  protest  on  the  part  of  the  Webb  fac- 
tion. Burr  and  Webb  were  looked  upon  as  rivals. 
"  He  hates  Webb  like  the  devil!  "  cried  a  delegate, 
and  "  It's  pie  for  Burr! "  sneered  another.  But  as 
he  moved  slightly  forward  and  faced  the  chairman 
a  sudden  hush  fell  before  him. 

Among  the  men  surrounding  him  his  powerful 
figure  towered  like  a  giant's.  His  abundant  red 
hair,  waving  thickly  from  his  bulging  forehead,  re- 
deemed by  its  single  note  of  colour  the  rigidity  of 
his  features.  His  eyes — small,  keen,  deeply  set  be- 
neath heavy  brows — flashed  from  a  dull  opacity  to 
an  alert  animation.  But  in  the  first  and  last  view  of 
his  face  it  was  the  mouth  that  marked  the  man ;  the 
straight,  thin  lips  would  close  or  unclose  at  their 
own  will,  not  at  another's — the  line  of  the  mouth, 
like  the  line  of  the  hard,  square  jaw,  was  the  physical 
expression  of  his  character.  He  was  called  ugly, 
but  it  was  at  least  the  ugliness  of  individuality — the 
ugliness  of  an  unpolished  force — of  a  raw,  yet  dis- 
ciplined energy.  Now,  as  he  stood  at  bis  full  height 
upon  the  stage,  his  personality  was  felt  before  his 
words  were  uttered.  He  had  but  one  attribute  of 
recognised  oratory — a  voice;  and  yet  a  voice  so 
little  vibrant  as  to  seem  almost  without  inflections. 

/ 
\  / 


304  The  Voice  of  the  People 

It  was  resonant,  far-reaching,  incisive;  but  it  rang 
abruptly  and  without  mellowness. 

"  Mr.  Chairman,"  he  began,  and  his  words  were 
heard  from  pit  to  gallery.  "  It  is  perhaps  unneces- 
sary for  me  to  state  that  I  do  not  rise  as  an  advo- 
cate of  Mr.  Webb.  I  am  neither  his  personal  friend 
nor  his  political  supporter,  but  in  the  year  alluded  to 
by  the  gentleman  from  Nottoway  I  was  upon  a  com- 
mittee appointed  to  investigate  the  charges  which 
the  gentleman  from  Nottoway  has  seen  fit  to  revive." 
A  silence  had  fallen  in  which  a  whisper  might  have 
been  heard.  Every  eye  in  the  building  was  turned 
to  where  his  outstanding  mop  of  hair  shone  red 
against  the  smoke-stained  wall.  "  The  charges  were 
thoroughly  investigated  and  emphatically  with- 
drawn. The  gentleman  from  Nottoway  has  been 
misinformed  or  his  memory  has  misled  him — since 
there  was  abundant  evidence  brought  before  the 
committee  to  prove  the  suspicions  against  Mr. 
Webb's  methods  as  a  lobbyist  to  be  absolutely  with- 
out foundation. 

"  I  have  made  this  statement  because  I  believe 
myself  to  be  in  a  better  position  to  disprove  this  old 
and  forgotten  charge  than  any  man  present.  As  I 
am  a  recognised  opponent  of  Mr.  Webb's  political 
ambition  my  testimony  to  the  integrity  of  his  per- 
sonal honour  may  be  of  additional  value." 

In  the  thunder  of  applause  that  shook  the  building 
he  turned  for  the  first  time  towards  the  house.  The 
cheers  that  went  up  to  him  brought  the  animation 
to  his  eyes.  The  faces  in  the  pit  were  hidden  behind 
a  sea  of  handkerchiefs  and  hats — it  was  the  response 
which  a  Virginia  audience  makes  to  a  brave  or  a 


The  Voice  of  the  People  305 

generous  action.  "Hurrah  for  honest  Nick!  "  yelled 
the  floor,  and  "  Go  in  and  win  yourself!  "  shouted  a 
delegate  from  his  own  district. 

He  spoke  again,  and  they  were  silent. 

"  Men  of  Virginia,  in  the  naming  of  your  gover- 
nor, let  us  have  neither  subterfuge  nor  slander. 
Better  than  the  love  of  party  is  the  love  of  honesty 
— and  the  Democracy  of  Jefferson  cannot  thrive 
upon  falsehood.  Fair  means  are  the  only  means, 
honest  ends  are  the  only  ends.  The  party  owes  its 
right  to  existence  to  the  people's  will;  when  its  life 
must  be  prolonged  by  artificial  stimulants  it  is  fit 
that  it  should  die.  It  is  not  the  people's  master, 
but  the  people's  servant;  if  it  should  usurp  the  op- 
pressor's place,  it  must  die  the  oppressor's  death. 

"  For  fifteen  years  I  have  worked  a  Democrat 
among  you,  and  it  is  not  needed  that  I  should  put 
in  words  my  love  for  the  party  I  have  served;  but  I 
say  to  you  to-day  that  if  that  party  were  doomed  to 
annihilation  and  a  lie  could  save  it,  I  would  not 
speak  it." 

He  sat  down  and  the  uproar  began  again.  Be- 
yond the  party  were  the  people,  and  he  had  touched 
them.  With  the  force  of  his  personality  upon  it  he 
had  become  suddenly  the  hero  of  the  house.  "  Hon- 
est Nick!  Honest  Nick!  "  shouted  the  galleries,  and 
the  cry  was  echoed  from  the  pit.  When  order  was 
restored  Major  Baylor  completed  his  speech;  it  was 
seconded  by  a  sensible  young  congressman,  and  the 
oratory  was  cut  short  by  a  call  for  votes. 

In  a  flash  the  chairmen  of  the  different  delegations 
were  stung  into  action.  A  buzz  like  that  of  bees 
swarming  rose  from  the  pit  and  white  slips  of  paper 
20 


306  The  Voice  of  the  People 

fluttered  from  row  to  row.  The  Webb  leaders  were 
whipping  their  faction  into  an  enthusiasm  that 
drowned  the  roll  call.  At  last,  with  the  reading  of 
the  ballot,  there  was  silence,  followed  by  applause. 
Webb  led  slightly  in  advance  of  Crutchfield;  Burr 
came  next,  Hartley  last.  With  the  surprise  of  the 
third  name,  round  which  there  had  been  a  rally  of 
uninstructed  delegations,  a  cheer  went  up.  In  the 
clamour  Burr  had  risen  to  ask  that  his  name  be 
withdrawn,  but  the  chorus  of  his  newly  formed  fol- 
lowers howled  him  down.  Then  Hartley  was 
dropped  from  the  race  and  a  second  ballot  ordered. 
The  excitement  in  the  building  could  be  felt  like 
steam.  The  heat  was  rising  and  a  nervous  tension 
weighted  the  atmosphere.  Through  the  clouds  of 
tobacco  smoke  the  records  of  changes  sounded  dis- 
tinctly. The  Hartley  delegation  that  Webb  had 
counted  on  divided  and  went  two  ways;  the  county 
of  Albemarle  passed  over  to  Burr;  the  city  of  Rich- 
mond broke  its  vote  into  three  equal  parts. 

Each  change  was  received  with  a  roar  by  the  op- 
posing factions — while  the  clerks  stumbled  on,  mak- 
ing alteration  upon  alteration.  On  the  floor  and 
the  stage  the  chairmen  thickened  in  the  fight.  Ben 
Gait  had  sprung  suddenly  into  life  as  Burr's  mana- 
ger, and  in  the  aisle  Tom  Bassett,  in  his  shirt  sleeves, 
with  a  tally  sheet  in  his  hand,  was  inciting  his  bat- 
talion to  victory.  About  him  the  Webb  men  were 
summing  up  the  votes  needed  to  bring  in  their 
leader.  The  noise  had  a  dull,  baying  sound,  as  if  the 
general  voice  were  growing  hoarse.  The  odour  of 
good  and  bad  tobacco  was  dense  and  stifling.  In 
the  midst  of  the  clamour  a  drunken  man  rose  to 


The  Voice  of  the  People  307 

move  that  the  convention  consider  the  subject  in 
prayer. 

Upon  the  reading  of  the  second  ballot  the  confu- 
sion deepened.  The  name  of  Crutchfield  went 
down,  and  Burr  and  Webb  ran  hotly  neck  to  neck. 
Then  the  Crutchfield  party,  which  had  held  bravely 
together,  began  to  go  over,  and,  as  each  change  was 
made,  a  shout  went  up  from  the  successful  force. 
Hall  and  Gait  had  established  themselves  on  oppo- 
site sides  of  the  stage  and  were  working  with  drawn 
breath.  Gait,  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth  and  a  fan 
in  his  hand,  was  the  only  cool  man  in  the  house. 
He  had  caught  the  wave  of  popular  enthusiasm  be- 
fore it  had  had  time  to  break,  and  he  was  giving  it  no 
ground  upon  which  to  settle.  Tom  Bassett  in  the 
centre  aisle  was  cheering  on  his  workers.  He  was 
superb,  but  the  Webb  men  were  not  behind  him;  it 
was  still  neck  to  neck.  Then,  at  last,  with  the  third 
ballot,  Burr  led  off,  and  the  voting  was  over. 

There  was  a  call  upon  the  name  of  the  successful 
candidate,  but  before  he  stood  up  the  Honourable 
Cumberland  Crutchfield  rose  to  eulogise  the  wisdom 
of  the  convention  in  nominating  the  man  he  had 
tried  to  defeat.  The  Caesar  of  Democracy  was 
beaming,  despite  his  disappointment — a  persistent 
beam  of  the  flesh. 

"  Gentlemen,  you  have  made  your  decision,  and 
it  is  for  me  to  bow  to  its  wisdom.  In  the  Honour- 
able Nick  Burr  your  choice  has  fallen  upon  the  man 
who  will  most  incite  to  ardour  each  individual  voter. 
His  record  is  a  glorious  one," — for  an  instant  he 
wavered;  then  his  imagination  took  a  blinded  leap. 
"  He  was  born  a  Democrat,  he  lives  a  Democrat,  he 


308  The  Voice  of  the  People 

will  die  a  Democrat.  In  the  life  of  his  revered  and 
lamented  father,  thelal£_Alexander  P.  Burr,  he  has  a 
shining  example  of  unshaken  conviction  and  un- 
swerving loyalty  to  principle.  Gentlemen,  you  have 
chosen  well,  and  I  pledge  myself  to  uphold  your 
nominee  and  to  be  the  foremost  bearer  of  your  ban- 
ner when  it  waves  in  next  November  from  the  line 
of  Tennessee  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean." 

He  sat  down  amid  ecstatic  cheers  and  Nicholas 
Burr  came  forward. 

His  face  was  grave,  but  there  was  the  light  of  en- 
thusiasm in  his  eyes  and  his  head  was  uplifted. 

"  There's  a  man  who  has  capitalised  his  con- 
science," sneered  a  Webb  follower  with  a  smile. 

Across  the  hall  Ben  Gait  was  lighting  a  cigar,  the 
tattered  remains  of  his  fan  at  his  feet.  "  There's  a 
statesman  that  came  a  century  too  late,"  he  re- 
marked to  Tom  Bassett.  "  He's  a  leader,  pure  and 
simple,  but  he's  out  of  place  in  an  age  when  every 
man's  his  own  patriot." 


Ill 


The  successful  man  was  returning  to  Kings- 
borough.  He  had  spent  the  week  in  Richmond, 
where  he  had  lived  for  the  past  ten  years,  and  he 
was  now  going  back  to  receive  the  congratulations 
of  the  judge — as  he  would  have  gone  twice  the  dis- 
tance. 

It  was  the  ordinary  car  of  a  Southern  railroad, 
and  leaning  his  head  against  the  harsh,  bristly  plush 
of  the  seat,  he  had  before  him  the  usual  examples 
of  Southern  passengers. 

Across  the  aisle  a  slender  mother  was  holding  a 
crying  baby,  two  small  children  huddling  beside  her. 
In  the  seat  in  front  of  him  slouched  a  mulatto  of  the 
new  era — the  degenerate  descendant  of  two  races 
that  mix  only  to  decay.  Further  off  there  were 
several  men  returning  from  business  trips,  and 
across  from  them  sat  a  pretty  girl,  asleep,  her  hand 
resting  on  a  gilded  cage  containing  a  startled  canary. 
At  intervals  she  was  aroused  by  the  flitting  figure  of 
a  small  boy  on  the  way  to  the  cooler  of  iced  water. 
From  the  rear  of  the  car  came  the  amiable  drawl  of 
the  conductor  as  he  discussed  the  affairs  of  the  State 
with  a  local  drummer,  whose  feet  rested  upon  a 
square  leathern  case. 

Nicholas  Burr  leaned  back  and  closed  his  eyes, 
crossing  his  long  legs  which  were  cramped  by  the 
limited  space.  He  had  already  exchanged  pleas- 
antries with  the  conductor,  and  he  had  chatted  for 


310  The  Voice  of  the  People 

twenty  minutes  with  a  farmer,  who  had  gone  back 
at  last  to  the  smoking-car. 

The  low,  irregular  landscape  was  as  familiar  to 
him  as  his  own  face.  He  knew  it  so  well  that  he 
could  see  it  with  closed  eyes — could  note  each 
change  of  expression  where  the  daylight  shifted, 
could  tell  where  the  thin  cornfields  ended  and  the 
meadows  rolled  fresh  and  green,  could  smell  the 
stretch  of  young  pines  above  the  smoke  of  the  en- 
gine, and  could  follow  to  their  ends  the  rain-washed 
roads  that  crawled  with  hidden  heads  into  the  blue 
blur  of  the  distance.  He  knew  it  all,  but  he  was 
not  thinking  of  it  now. 

He  was  thinking  of  the  day,  fifteen  years  ago, 
when  he  had  left  Kingsborough  to  throw  himself 
and  his  future  into  the  service  of  his  State.  He  had 
told  himself  then,  fresh  from  the  influence  of  Jeffer- 
son and  the  traditions  of  Kingsborough,  that  he  had 
but  one  love  remaining — the  love  of  Virginia.  Now, 
with  the  bitterer  wisdom  of  experience,  that  youth- 
ful romance  showed  half  foolish,  half  pathetic.  To 
the  man  of  twenty-three  it  had  been  at  once  the  in- 
spiration and  the  actuality.  His  personal  life  had 
turned  to  ashes  in  an  hour,  and  he  had  told  himself 
that  his  public  one,  at  least,  should  remain  vital.  He 
had  pledged  himself  to  success,  and  it  came  to  him 
now  that  the  cause  had  been  won  by  his  single- 
heartedness — by  the  absolute  oneness  of  his  desire. 
There  had  been  a  sole  divinity  before  him,  and  he 
had  not  wandered  in  the  way  of  strange  gods.  He 
had  given  himself,  and  after  fifteen  years  he  was 
gaining  his  recompense — a  recompense  for  more 
work  than  most  men  put  into  a  lifetime. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  3 1 1 

He  smiled  slightly  as  he  thought  of  the  beginning. 
In  the  beginning  his  sincerity  had  been  laughed  at, 
his  ardour  had  met  rebuff.  He  had  gone  to  Rich- 
mond to  meet  an  assembly  of  statesmen ;  he  had 
found  a  body  of  well-intentioned,  but  unprofitable 
servants.  They  were  men  to  be  led,  this  he  saw; 
and  as  soon  as  his  vision  was  adjusted  he  had  de- 
termined within  himself  to  become  their  leader.  The 
day  when  a  legislator  meant  a  statesman  was  done 
with ;  it  meant  merely  a  man  like  other  men,  to  be 
juggled  with  by  shrewder  politicians  or  to  be  tricked 
by  more  dishonest  ones.  They  plunged  into  errors, 
and  lived  to  retrieve  them ;  they  walked  blindfold 
into  traps,  and  with  open  eyes  struggled  out  again. 
For  he  found  them  honest  and  he  found  them  faith- 
ful where  their  lights  led  them.  He  remembered, 
with  a  laugh,  a  New  Englander  who,  after  a  fruitless 
winter  spent  in  scenting  the  iniquities  of  the  ruling 
party,  had  angrily  exclaimed  that  "  if  politicians 
were  made  up  of  knaves  and  fools,  Mason  and 
Dixon's  was  the  geographical  line  dividing  the 
species."  Nicholas  had  retorted,  "  If  to  be  honest 
means  to  be  a  fool,  we  are  fools!"  and  the  New 
Englander  had  chuckled  homeward. 

That  was  his  first  winter  and  he  had  been  nobody. 
Ah,  it  was  hard  work,  that  beginning.  He  had  had 
to  fight  party  plans  and  personal  prejudices.  He 
had  had  to  fight  the  recognised  leaders  of  the  legis- 
lature, and  he  had  had  to  fight  the  men  who  pulled 
the  strings — the  men  who  stood  outside  and  hood- 
winked the  consciences  of  the  powers  within.  He 
had  had  to  fight,  and  he  had  fought  well  and  long. 

He  recalled  the  day  of  his  first  decisive  victory — 


312  The  Voice  of  the  People 

the  day  when  he  had  stood  alone  and  the  people — the 
great,  free  people,  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  all 
democracies — had  rallied  to  his  standard.  He  had 
won  the  people  on  that  day,  and  he  had  never  lost 
them. 

But  he  was  of  the  party  first  and  last.  In  his 
youth  he  had  believed  in  the  divine  inspiration  of  the 
Jeffersonian  principles  as  he  believed  in  God.  On 
the  Democratic  leaders  he  had  thought  to  find  the 
mantle  of  Apostolic  Succession.  He  had  believed 
as  the  judge  believed — with  the  passionate  credulity 
of  an  older  political  age.  Time  had  tempered,  but 
it  had  not  dissipated,  his  fiery  partisanship.  He 
sat  to-day  with  the  honours  of  a  party  upon  him 
— honours  that  a  few  months  would  see  ratified  by 
a  voice  nominally  the  people's.  He  laughed  now 
as  he  remembered  that  Gait  had  said  that  in  five 
years  Dudley  Webb  would  be  the  most  popular  man 
in  the  State.  "  When  Senator  Withers  stops  de- 
livering orations,  there'll  be  a  call  for  an  orator,  and 
Webb  will  arise,"  he  had  prophesied.  "  They  don't 
need  him  now  because  the  senator  gets  off  speeches 
like  hot  cakes;  but  mark  my  words,  the  first  time 
Webb  is  asked  to  make  an  address  at  the  unveiling 
of  a  Confederate  statue,  there  won't  be  a  man  to 
stand  up  against  him  in  Virginia.  He's  a  better 
speaker  than  Withers — only  the  public  doesn't  know 
it,  and  there'll  be  hot  times  when  it  finds  it  out." 

The  train  was  slackening  for  a  wayside  station. 
Outside  a  man  was  driving  a  plough  across  a  field 
where  grain  had  been  harvested.  Nicholas  followed 
with  his  eyes  the  walk  of  the  horses,  the  purple- 
brown  trail  of  the  plough,  the  sturdy,  independent 


The  Voice  of  the  People  313 

figure  of  the  driver  as  he  passed,  whistling  an  air. 
Over  the  Virginian  landscape — the  landscape  of  a 
country  where  each  ragged  inch  of  ground  wears 
its  strange,  distinctive  charm,  where  each  rotting 
fence  "  worm  "  guards  a  peculiar  beauty  for  those 
who  know  it — lay  the  warm  hush  of  full-blown 
summer. 

The  man  at  the  plough  aroused  in  Nicholas  Burr 
a  sudden  exhilaration  as  of  physical  exertion.  It 
brought  back  his  boyhood  which  had  brightened  as 
he  had  passed  farther  from  it,  and  he  felt  that  it 
would  be  good  on  such  an  afternoon  to  follow  the 
horses  across  fields  that  were  odorous  of  the  up- 
turned earth. 

The  train  went  on  slowly,  with  the  shiftless  slouch 
of  Southern  trains,  the  man  at  the  plough  vanished, 
and  Nicholas  returned  to  his  thoughts. 

The  years  had  been  almost  breathless  in  their 
flight.  He  had  put  himself  to  a  purpose,  and  he  had 
lost  sight  of  all  things  save  its  fulfilment.  The  Suc- 
cess that  men  spoke  of  with  astonished  eyes — the 
transformation  of  the  barefooted  boy  into  the  tri- 
umphant politician,  had  a  firm  foundation,  he  knew, 
though  others  did  not.  It  was  his  capacity  for  toil 
that  had  made  him — not  his  intellect,  but  his  ability 
to  persevere — the  power  which,  in  the  old  days,  had 
successfully  carried  him  through  Jerry  Pollard's 
store.  As  chairman  of  the  Democratic  Party,  men 
had  called  his  campaigns  brilliant.  He  alone  knev? 
the  tedious  processes,  the  infinite  patience  front 
which  these  triumphs  had  evolved — he  alone  knew 
the  secret  and  the  security  of  his  success. 

The  train  stopped  with  a  lurch. 


314  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  Kingsborough,  sir !  "  said  the  conductor  with  a 
friendly  touch  upon  his  arm. 

He  started  abruptly  from  his  reverie,  lifted  his 
bag,  and  left  the  car.  On  the  platform  outside  a 
group  of  stragglers  recognised  him,  and  there  was  a 
hearty  cheer  followed  by  frantic  handshakes.  The 
incident  pleased  him,  and  he  spoke  to  each  man 
singly,  calling  him  by  name.  The  sheriff  was  one 
of  them,  and  the  clerk  of  the  court,  and  the  old  negro 
sexton  of  the  church.  There  was  a  fervour  in  their 
congratulations  which  brought  the  warmth  to  his 
eyes.  He  was  glad  that  the  men  who  had  known 
him  in  his  poverty  should  rise  so  cordially  to  ap- 
prove his  success. 

He  left  the  station,  walking  rapidly  to  the  judge's 
house.  He  had  frequently  returned  to  Kings- 
borough,  but  to-day  the  changes  of  the  last  fifteen 
years  struck  him  with  a  sensation  of  surprise.  The 
wide,  white  street,  half  in  sunshine,  half  in  shadow, 
trailed  its  drowsy  length  into  the  open  country 
where  the  roads  were  filled  with  grass  and  dust.  He 
noticed  with  a  pang  that  the  ivy  had  been  torn  from 
the  church  and  that  the  glazed  brick  walls  flaunted 
a  nudity  that  was  almost  immodest.  He  had  re- 
membered it  as  a  bower  of  shade — a  gigantic  bird's 
nest.  He  saw  that  ancient  elms  were  rapidly  decay- 
ing, and  when  he  reached  the  judge's  garden  he 
found  that  the  syringa  and  the  lilacs  had  vanished. 
The  garden  had  faced  the  destroyer  in  the  plough, 
and  trim  vegetables  thrived  where  gaudy  blossoms 
had  once  rioted. 

As  he  opened  the  gate  he  saw  old  Caesar  bending 
above  the  mint  bed,  and  he  went  over  to  him. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  315 

"  Dar  ain'  nuttin  better  ter  jedge  er  gent'mun  by 
den  his  mint  patch,"  the  old  negro  was  muttering, 
"  an'  dis  yer  one's  done  w'ar  out  all  dose  no  'count 
flow'rs,  des'  like  de  quality  done  w'ar  out  de  trash. 
Hi !  Marse  Nick,  dat  you  ?  "  he  shook  the  proffered 
hand,  his  kindly  black  face  wrinkling  with  hospital- 
ity. "  Marse  George  hev  got  de  swelled  foot,"  he 
said  in  answer  to  a  question,  "  an'  he  ain'  tech  his 
julep  sence  de  day  befo'  yestiddy.  Dis  yer's  fur 
you,"  he  added,  looking  at  the  bunch  in  his  hand. 

"  You're  a  trump,  Caesar !  "  exclaimed  Nicholas 
as  he  ascended  the  steps  and  entered  the  wide  hall, 
through  which  a  light  breeze  was  blowing. 

The  library  door  was  open  and  he  went  in  softly, 
lightening  instinctively  his  heavy  tread.  The  judge 
was  sitting  in  his  great  arm-chair,  his  white  head 
resting  against  the  cushioned  back,  his  bandaged 
foot  on  a  high  footstool. 

"  Is  it  you,  my  boy?  "  he  asked,  without  turning. 

Nicholas  crossed  the  room  and  gripped  the  out- 
stretched hand  which  trembled  slightly  in  the  air, 
the  usual  rugged  composure  of  his  face  giving  place 
to  frank  tenderness. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  see  the  gout's  troubling  you  again," 
he  said. 

The  judge  laughed  and  motioned  to  a  chair  beside 
his  desk.  His  fine  dark  eyes  were  as  bright  as  ever, 
and  there  was  a  youthful  ring  in  his  voice. 

"  I'm  paying  for  my  pleasures  like  the  rest  of  us," 
he  responded.  "  The  truth  is,  Caesar  makes  me  live 
too  high,  the  rascal — and  I  go  on  a  bread-and-milk 
diet  once  in  a  while  to  spite  him."  Then  his  tone 
changed ;  he  pushed  aside  a  slender  vase  of  "  safrano" 


316  The  Voice  of  the  People 

roses  which  shadowed  Nicholas's  face  and  regarded 
him  with  genuine  delight.  "  It's  good  news  you 
bring  me,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  haven't  had  such 
news  since  they  told  me  the  Democratic  Party  had 
wiped  out  Mahonism.  And  it  was  a  surprise.  We 
thought  Dudley  Webb  was  too  secure  for  the 
chances  of  the  '  dark  horse.'  Well,  well,  I'm  sorry 
for  Dudley,  though  I'm  glad  for  you.  How  did  you 
doit?" 

Nicholas  laughed,  but  his  face  was  grave.  "  Ben 
Gait  says  I  worked  up  a  political  '  revival,'  "  he  re- 
plied. "  He  declares  my  methods  were  for  all  the 
world  the  counterpart  of  those  employed  in  a  Metho- 
dist camp  meeting,  but  he's  joking,  of  course.  It 
was  a  distinct  surprise  to  me,  as  you  know.  I  had 
declined  to  offer  myself  as  a  candidate  for  the  nomi- 
nation, because  I  believed  Webb  to  be  assured  of 
victory.  However,  the  Crutchfield  party  proved 
stronger  than  we  supposed,  and  they  came  over  to 
my  side.     I  was  the  '  dark  horse,'  as  you  say." 

"  It's  very  good,"  commented  the  judge.  "  Very 
good." 

"  Gait  is  afraid  that  what  he  calls  '  the  political 
change  of  heart '  won't  last,"  Nicholas  went  on, 
"  but  he  knows,  as  I  know,  that  I  am  the  choice  of 
the  people  and  that,  though  a  few  of  the  leaders  may 
distrust  me,  the  Democratic  Party  as  a  body  has 
entire  confidence  in  me.  You  will  understand  that, 
had  I  doubted  that  the  decision  was  free  and  un- 
trammelled, I  should  not  have  accepted  the  nomi- 
nation." 

The  judge  nodded  with  a  smile.  "  I  know,"  he 
said,  "  and  I  also  know  that  you  were  not  born  to 


The  Voice  of  the  People  3 1 7 

be  a  politician.  You  will  bear  witness  to  it  some 
day.  You  should  have  stuck  to  law.  But  have 
you  seen  Dudley  ?  " 

The  younger  man's  face  clouded.  When  he  spoke 
there  was  a  triumphant  zest  in  his  voice.  His 
deeply-set  eyes,  which  had  at  times  a  peculiarly 
opaque  quality,  were  now  charged  with  light.  The 
thick  red  locks  flared  above  his  brow. 

"  He  spoke  pleasantly  to  me  after  the  convention," 
he  answered.  "  It  was  a  disappointment  to  him,  I 
know — and  I  am  sorry,"  he  finished  in  a  forced,  ex- 
clamatory manner,  and  was  silent. 

The  judge  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  before  he 
went  on  in  his  even  tones. 

"  His  wife  was  telling  me,"  he  said.  "  She  was 
down  here  a  week  or  two  before  the  convention.  It 
seems  that  they  are  both  anxious  to  return  to  Rich- 
mond to  live.  She's  a  fine  girl,  is  Eugie.  It  was  a 
terrible  thing  about  that  brother  of  hers,  and  she's 
never  recovered  from  it.  I  can't  understand  how 
the  boy  came  to  commit  such  a  peculiarly  stupid 
forgery." 

A  flash  of  bitterness  crossed  the  other's  face ;  his 
voice  was  hard. 

"  He  has  missed  his  deserts,"  he  returned  harshly. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  poor  fellow,"  murmured  the 
judge,  flinching  from  a  twinge  of  gout  and  settling 
his  foot  more  carefully  upon  the  stool.  "  He  has 
been  a  fugitive  from  the  State  for  years  and  a 
stranger  to  his  wife  and  children.  There  was  al- 
ways something  extraordinary  in  the  fact  that  he 
escaped  after  conviction,  and  I  suppose  there  was  a 
kind  of  honour  in  his  not  breaking  his  bail.     At 


318  The  Voice  of  the  People 

least,  that's  the  way  Eugie  seems  to  regard  it — and  it 
is  such  a  pitiful  consolation  that  we  might  allow  her 
to  retain  it.  She  tells  me  that  Bernard's  wife  has 
been  in  destitute  circumstances.  It's  a  pity!  it's 
a  pity !  I  had  always  hoped  that  Tom  Battle's  boy 
would  turn  out  well." 

The  younger  man  met  his  eyes  squarely  and  spoke 
in  an  emotionless  voice. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  him  serving  his  sentence," 
he  said. 

An  hour  later  he  left  the  judge's  house  and  walked 
out  to  his  old  home.  Since  his  father's  death  the 
place  had  undergone  repairs  and  improvements. 
The  lawn  had  been  cleared  off  and  sown  in  grass, 
the  fences  had  been  mended,  and  the  house  had  been 
painted  white.  It  could  never  suggest  prosperity, 
but  it  had  assumed  an  appearance  of  comfort. 

In  the  little  room  next  the  kitchen  he  heard  his 
stepmother  scolding  a  small  negro  servant,  and  he 
broke  in  good-humouredly  upon  her  discourse. 

"All  right,  ma?"  he  called. 

Marthy  Burr  turned  and  came  towards  him.  She 
had  aged  but  little,  and  her  gaunt  figure  and  sharp 
face  still  showed  the  force  of  her  indomitable  spirit. 

"I  declar'  if  'tain't  you,  Nick!"  she  exclaimed. 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  per- 
functorily, for  he  was  chary  of  caresses.  Then  he 
lifted  Nannie's  baby  from  the  floor  and  tossed  it 
lightly. 

"  Nannie's  spending  the  day,"  explained  his  step- 
mother with  an  attempt  at  conversation.  "  She 
would  name  that  child  Marthy,  an'  it's  the  best 
lookin'  one  she's  got." 


The  Voice  of  the  People  319 

The  baby,  a  pink-cheeked  atom  in  a  blue  gingham 
frock,  made  a  frantic  clutch  at  the  vivid  hair  of  the 
giant  who  held  her,  and  set  up  a  tearful  disclaimer. 
Nicholas  returned  her  to  the  rug,  where  she  at- 
tempted to  swallow  a  string  of  spools,  and  looked 
at  his  stepmother. 

"  Where's  that  dress  I  sent  you  ?  "  he  demanded. 

Marthy  Burr  sat  down  and  smoothed  out  the 
creases  in  her  purple  calico. 

"  Laid  away  in  camphor,"  she  replied  with  a  diffi- 
dence that  was  rapidly  waning.  "  Marthy,  if  you 
swallow  them  spools,  you  won't  have  anything  to 
play  with." 

Nicholas  looked  about  the  common  little  room 
— at  the  coarse  lace  curtains,  the  crude  chromos, 
the  distorted  vases — and  returned  to  his  question. 

"  You  promised  me  you'd  wear  it,"  he  went  on. 

"  Wear  my  best  alpaca  every  day?"  she  demanded 
suspiciously.  "  I  wouldn't  have  it  on  more'n  an 
hour  befo'  one  of  them  worthless  niggers  would  have 
spilt  bacon  gravy  all  over  it.  There  ain't  been  no 
peace  in  this  house  since  you  sent  those  no  'count 
darkies  here  to  help  me.  If  yo'  pa  was  'live,  he'd 
turn  them  out  bag  an'  baggage  befo'  sundown. 
Lord,  Lord,  when  I  think  of  what  yo'  poor  pa  would 
say  if  he  was  to  walk  in  now  an'  find  them  creeturs 
in  the  kitchen." 

Her  stepson  smiled. 

"  Now,  if  you'll  sit  still  a  moment,  I'll  tell  you  a 
piece  of  news,"  he  said. 

"  You  ain't  thinkin'  of  gettin'  married,  air  you  ?  " 
inquired  Marthy  Burr  with  sudden  keenness. 

"  Married !  "     He  laughed  aloud.     "  I've  no  time 


320  The  Voice  of  the  People 

for  such  nonsense.  Listen — no,  let  the  baby  alone, 
she  isn't  choking.  If  the  Powers  agree,  and  the 
Democratic  Party  triumphs  in  November,  I  shall 
be  Governor  of  Virginia  on  the  first  of  January." 

His  stepmother  looked  at  him  in  a  dazed  way,  her 
glance  wandering  from  his  face  to  the  baby  with  the 
string  of  spools.  There  was  a  pleased  light  in  her 
eyes,  but  he  saw  that  she  was  striving  in  vain  to 
grasp  the  full  significance  of  his  words. 

"  Well,  well,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I  al'ays  told 
Amos  you  wa'nt  no  fool — but  who'd  have  thought 
it!" 


IV 


The  Capitol  building  at  Richmond  stands  on  a 
slight  eminence  in  a  grassy  square,  hiding  its  gray 
walls  behind  a  stretch  of  elms  and  sycamores,  as  if 
it  had  retreated  into  historic  shadow  before  the  ruth- 
less advance  of  the  spirit  of  modernism.  In  the 
centre  of  the  square,  whose  brilliant  green  slopes  are 
intersected  by  gravelled  walks  that  shine  silver  in 
the  sunlight,  the  grave  old  building  remains  the  one 
distinctive  feature  of  a  city  where  Iconoclasm  has 
walked  with  destroying  feet. 

A  few  years  ago — so  few  that  it  is  within  the 
memory  of  the  very  young — the  streets  leading  from 
the  Capitol  were  the  streets  of  a  Southern  town — 
bordered  by  hospitable  Southern  houses  set  in  gar- 
dens where  old-fashioned  flowers  bloomed.  Now 
the  gardens  are  gone  and  the  houses  are  outgrown. 
Progress  has  passed,  and  in  its  wake  there  have 
sprung  up  obvious  structures  of  red  brick  with 
brownstone  trimmings.  The  young  trees  leading 
off  into  avenues  of  shade  soften  the  harshness  of  an 
architecture  which  would  become  New  York,  and 
which  belongs  as  much  to  Massachusetts  as  to 
Virginia. 

The  very  girls  who,  on  past  summer  afternoons, 
flitted  in  bareheaded  loveliness  from  door  to  door, 
have  changed  with  the  changing  times.  The  love- 
liness is  perhaps  more  striking,  less  distinctive;  with 
the  flower-like  heads  have  passed  the  old  grace  and 

21 


322  The  Voice  of  the  People 

the  old  dependence,  and  the  undulatory  walk  has 
quickened  into  buoyant  briskness.  It  is  all  modern 
— as  modern  as  the  red  brick  walls  that  are  building 
where  a  quaint  mansion  has  fallen. 

But  in  the  Capitol  Square  one  forgets  to-day  and 
relives  yesterday.  Beneath  the  calm  eyes  of  the 
warlike  statue  of  the  First  American  little  childen 
chase  gray  squirrels  across  the  grass,  and  infant  car- 
riages with  beruffled  parasols  are  drawn  in  white 
and  pink  clusters  beside  the  benches.  Jefferson  and 
Marshall,  Henry  and  Nelson  are  secure  in  bronze 
when  mere  greatness  has  decayed. 

To  the  left  of  the  Capitol  a  gravelled  drive  leads 
between  a  short  avenue  of  lindens  to  the  turnstile 
iron  gates  that  open  before  the  governor's  house. 
Here,  too,  there  is  an  atmosphere  of  the  past  and  the 
picturesque.  The  lawn,  dotted  with  chrysanthe- 
mums and  rose  trees,  leads  down  from  the  rear  of 
the  house  to  a  wall  of  grapevines  that  overlooks  the 
street  below.  In  front  the  yard  is  narrow  and 
broken  by  a  short  circular  walk,  in  the  centre  of 
which  a  thin  fountain  plays  amid  long-leaved  plants. 
The  house,  grave,  gray,  and  old-fashioned — the 
square  side  porches  giving  it  a  delusive  suggestion 
of  length — faces  from  its  stone  steps  the  thin  foun- 
tain, the  iron  gates,  beyond  which  stretches  the 
white  drive  beneath  the  lindens,  and  the  great  bronze 
Washington  above  his  bodyguard  of  patriots.  Be- 
tween the  house  and  the  city  the  square  lies  like  a 
garden  of  green. 

It  was  on  a  bright  morning  in  January  that  Ben 
Gait  entered  one  of  the  iron  gateways  of  the  square 
and  walked  rapidly  across  to  the  Capitol. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  $23 

He  ascended  the  steep  flight  of  stone  steps,  and 
paused  for  an  instant  in  the  lobby  which  divided  the 
Senate  Chamber  from  the  House  of  Delegates.  The 
legislature  had  convened  some  six  weeks  before, 
and  the  building  was  humming  like  a  vast  bee- 
hive. 

In  the  centre  of  the  tesselated  floor  of  the  lobby, 
which  was  fitted  out  with  rows  of  earthenware  spit- 
toons, stood  Houdon's  statue  of  Washington,  and 
upon  the  railing  surrounding  it  groups  of  men  were 
leaning  as  they  talked.  Occasionally  a  speaker 
would  pause  to  send  a  mouthful  of  tobacco  juice  in 
aimless  pursuit  of  a  spittoon,  or  to  slice  off  a  fresh 
quid  from  the  plug  he  carried  in  his  pocket. 

Gait,  stopping  behind  a  stout  man  with  sandy 
hair,  tapped  him  carelessly  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Eh,  Major?  "  he  exclaimed. 

The  major  turned,  presenting  a  florid,  hairy  face, 
with  small,  shrewd  eyes  and  an  unpleasant  mouth. 
His  name  was  Rann,  and  he  was  the  most  important 
figure  in  the  Senate.  It  was  said  of  him  that  he  had 
never  made  a  speech  in  his  life,  but  that  he  was  con- 
tinually speaking  through  the  mouths  of  others.  He 
could  command  more  votes  in  both  branches  than 
any  member  of  the  Assembly,  but  his  ambition  was 
confined  to  the  leadership  of  the  men  about  him; 
he  had  been  in  the  State  Senate  fifteen  years,  and 
he  had  never  tried  to  climb  higher,  though  it  was 
reported  that  he  had  sent  a  United  States  senator  to 
Washington. 

"  Ah,  we'll  see  you  oftener  among  us  now,"  he 
said  as  he  wheeled  round,  holding  out  a  huge  red 
hand,  "  since  your  friend  sits  above."     He  laughed, 


324  The  Voice  of  the  People 

with  a  motion  towards  the  ceiling,  signifying  the 
direction  of  the  governor's  office.  "  By  the  way,  I 
was  sorry  about  that  bill  you  were  interested  in," 
he  went  on ;  "  upon  my  word  I  was — but  we're  skit- 
tish just  now  on  the  subject  of  corporations.  Char- 
ters are  dangerous  things — you  can't  tell  where 
they're  leading  you,  eh? — but,  on  my  word,  I  was 
sorry." 

"  So  was  I,"  responded  Gait  with  peculiar  dryness 
— adding,  with  the  frankness  for  which  he  was  liked 
and  hated,  "  I'd  been  dining  that  committee  for 
weeks.  Seven  of  them  swore  to  back  me  through, 
and  the  eighth  man  said  he'd  go  as  the  others  went. 
My  mind  was  so  easy  I  lost  sight  of  them  for  six 
hours,  and  every  man  John  of  them  voted  against 
the  bill.  I  believe  you  got  in  a  little  work  in  those 
six  hours." 

Rann  laughed  and  lowered  one  puffy  eyelid  in  a 
blandly  unembarrassed  wink.  "  Oh,  we  don't  like 
corporations,"  he  replied,  "  I  think  I  remarked  as 
much.  How-de-do,  Colonel  ?  Where'd  you  dine 
last  night?     Missed  you  at  table." 

The  colonel  was  Diggs,  and,  after  a  curt  nod  in  his 
direction,  Gait  pushed  his  way  through  the  lobby- 
ists and  glanced  into  the  House  of  Delegates,  where 
an  animated  discussion  of  an  oyster  bill  was  in 
progress. 

Owing  to  the  absolute  supremacy  of  the  Demo- 
crats, the  body  presented  the  effect  of  a  party  caucus 
rather  than  a  legislative  branch  of  opposing  ele- 
ments. The  few  Republicans  and  Populists  were 
lost  in  the  ruling  faction. 

Gait  was  nodding  here  and  there  to  members  who 


The  Voice  of  the  People  325 

recognised  him,  when  his  arm  was  touched  by  a  lank 
countryman  who  was  standing  near. 

"  Eh?  "  he  inquired  absently. 

"  I  jest  axed  you  if  you  reckoned  we  paid  that 
gentleman  over  yonder  for  talking  that  gosh  about 
oyschers?  " 

Gait  bowed.  "  Why,  I  suppose  so,"  he  responded 
gravely.  "  It's  a  good  day's  work.  Am  I  to  pre- 
sume that  you  are  not  interested  in  oysters?  " 

"  An'  he  gits  fo'  dollars  a  day  for  saying  them 
things,"  commented  the  other  shortly.  "  I  tell  you 
'tain't  wo'th  fo'  cents,  suh." 

He  lifted  his  bony  hand  and  gave  a  tug  at  his 
scraggy  beard.     In  a  moment  he  spoke  again. 

"  Can  you  p'int  out  the  young  fellow  from 
Goochland?"  he  inquired.  "That's  whar  I  come 
from." 

Gait  pointed  out  the  representative  in  question, 
and  smiled  because  it  was  a  man  who  had  dined  with 
him  the  evening  before. 

"  That  he?  "  exclaimed  the  countryman  contemp- 
tuously. "  Why,  I've  been  down  here  sence  Satur- 
day, an'  that  young  spark  ain't  opened  his  mouth. 
I  ain't  heerd  him  mention  Goochland  sence  I  come." 

"  Oh,  there's  time  enough,"  ventured  Gait  good- 
humouredly.  "  He's  young  yet,  and  Goochland  is 
immortal !  " 

"  An'  I  reckon  he  gits  fo'  dollars  same  as  the  rest," 
went  on  the  stranger  reflectively,  "  jest  for  settin' 
thar  an'  whittlin'  at  that  desk.  I  used  to  study  a 
good  deal  about  politics  fo'  I  come  here,  but  they 
air  jest  a  blamed  swindle,  that's  what  they  air." 

He  turned  on  his  heel,  and  in  a  moment  Gait 


o 


26  The  Voice  of  the  People 


entered  the  elevator  and  ascended  to  the  office  of 
the  chief  executive. 

Reaching  the  landing  he  crossed  a  small  gallery, 
where  hung  portraits  of  historic  Virginians — gover- 
nors in  periwigs  and  lace  ruffles  and  statesmen  of  a 
later  age  in  high  neckcloths.  At  the  end  of  a  short 
passage  he  opened  the  door  of  the  anteroom  and 
faced  the  private  secretary,  who  was  busy  with  his 
typewriter. 

The  secretary  glanced  up,  recognised  Gait,  and 
gave  a  cordial  nod. 

"  The  governor's  got  a  gentleman  in  just  now 
who  called  about  the  boundary  line  between  Vir- 
ginia and  Maryland,"  he  said  as  Gait  sat  down. 
"  He  wants  to  see  you,  though,  so  you'd  better  wait. 
For  a  wonder  there's  nobody  else  here.  Two-thirds 
of  the  legislature  were  up  a  while  ago." 

He  spoke  with  an  easy  intimacy  of  tone,  while  the 
click  of  the  typewriter  went  on  rapidly. 

Gait  nodded  in  response  and,  as  he  did  so,  the 
door  opened  and  the  caller  came  out. 

"  You're  the  very  man ! "  exclaimed  a  hearty  voice, 
and  Nicholas  Burr  was  holding  out  his  hand. 
"  Come  in.  You're  the  only  human  being  I  know 
who  is  always  the  right  man  in  the  right  place. 
How  do  you  manage  it  ?  " 

He  sat  down  before  his  desk,  pushing  aside  the 
litter  of  letters  and  pamphlets.  "  I  should  like  you 
to  glance  over  this  list  of  appointments,"  he  went 
on. 

"  It  is  what  I  dropped  in  about,"  responded  Gait. 

He  flung  himself  into  an  easy  chair  and  stretched 
his  long  legs  comfortably  before  him.     He  did  not 


The  Voice  of  the  People  327 

take  the  list  at  once,  but  sat  staring  abstractedly  at 
the  freshly  papered  green  walls  above  the  large  La- 
trobe  stove  whose  isinglass  doors  shone  like  blood- 
shot eyes. 

It  was  a  long  cheerful  room  with  three  windows 
which  overlooked  the  grassy  square.  There  was  a 
bright  red  carpet  on  the  floor,  and  before  the  desk 
lay  a  gaudy  rug  enriched  with  stiff  garlands.  In 
one  corner  a  walnut  bookcase  was  filled  with  papers 
filed  for  reference,  and  the  shelves  across  from  it  were 
lined  with  calf-bound  "  Codes  of  Virginia."  Among 
the  pictures  on  the  pale-green  walls  there  were 
several  of  historic  subjects — Washington  among  his 
generals  and  Lee  mounted  upon  Traveller.  Over 
the  mantel  hung  an  engraving  of  the  United  States 
Senate  with  Clay  for  the  central  figure.  Beside  the 
desk  a  cracker  box  was  filled  with  unanswered 
letters. 

"  Yes,  I  dropped  in  about  that,"  repeated  Gait,  his 
gaze  returning  to  the  rugged  features  of  the  man  at 
the  desk.     "  You're  not  looking  well,  by  the  way." 

The  other  laughed.  "  The  office  seekers  have 
been  at  me,"  he  replied;  "  but  I'm  all  right.  What 
were  you  going  to  say?  " 

His  large,  muscular  hand  lay  upon  the  desk,  and 
as  he  spoke  he  fingered  an  open  pamphlet.  His 
penetrating  eyes  were  on  Gait's  face. 

Gait  lifted  the  list  of  names  and  read  it  in  silence. 

"  A-ahem !  "  he  said  at  last  and  laid  it  down ;  then 
he  took  it  up  again. 

"  I  have  given  a  good  deal  of  attention  to  the  edu- 
cational boards,"  continued  the  governor  slowly. 
"  I  do  not  think  it  is  sufficiently  realised  that  only 


328  The  Voice  of  the  People 

men  of  the  highest  ability  should  be  placed  in  con- 
trol of  institutions  of  learning." 

"  Ah,  I  see,"  was  Gait's  comment.  In  a  moment 
he  spoke  abruptly : 

"  I  say,  Nick,  has  it  occurred  to  you  to  ascertain 
the  direction  in  which  the  influence  of  these  men  will 
go  in  the  next  senatorial  election?  " 

The  other  hesitated  an  instant.  "  Frankly,  I  have 
done  my  best  to  put  such  questions  aside,"  he 
answered. 

Gait  squared  round  suddenly  and  faced  him ;  there 
was  a  decisive  ring  in  his  voice. 

"  The  next  election  comes  in  two  years,"  he  said 
quietly.  "  I  have  it  on  excellent  authority  that 
Withers  will  not  seek  to  succeed  himself.  His 
health  has  given  out  and  he  is  going  to  the  country. 
Now,  remove  Withers,  and  there  are  two  men  who 
might  take  his  place  in  the  Senate.  You  know 
whom  I  mean?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

Gait  went  on  quickly : 

"  You  want  the  senatorship?  " 

"  Yes,  I  want  it." 

"  Very  good.  Now,  Webb  and  yourself  will  run 
that  race,  and  one  of  you  will  lose  it.  It's  going  to 
be  a  hot  race  and  a  hard  winning.  There'll  be  some 
pretty  unpleasant  work  to  be  done  by  somebody. 
You've  been  in  the  business  long  enough  to  know 
that  the  methods  aren't  exactly  such  as  you  can  see 
your  face  in." 

"  All  the  more  need  for  clean  men,"  broke  in 
Nicholas  shortly. 

"  Just  so.     But  the  man  who  spends  his  days  in 


The   Voice  ot  the  People  329 

the  bathtub  doesn't  walk  about  where  mud  Is  fling- 
ing. I'm  an  honest  man,  please  God.  You're  an 
honest  man,  and  that's  why  a  lot  of  us  are  running 
you  with  might  and  main  and  money.  But  there's 
an  honesty  that  verges  on  imbecility,  and  that's  the 
kind  that  talks  itself  hoarse  when  it  ought  to  keep 
silent.  Save  your  talking  until  you  get  to  the  Senate, 
and  then  let  fly  as  much  morality  as  you  please; 
it  won't  hurt  anybody  there,  heaven  knows.  You 
are  the  man  we  need,  and  a  few  of  us  know  it,  though 
the  majority  may  not.  But  for  the  next  two  years 
give  up  trying  to  purify  the  Democratic  Party.  The 
party's  all  right,  and  it's  going  to  stay  so." 

"  It  has  been  my  habit  to  express  my  convictions," 
returned  the  other  quickly. 

"  Then  drop  the  habit,"  replied  Gait  with  an  affec- 
tionate glance  that  softened  the  shrewd  alertness  of 
his  look.  "  My  dear  and  valued  friend,  a  successful 
politician  does  not  have  convictions;  he  has  emo- 
tions. Convictions  were  all  right  when  Madison 
was  President,  but  that  gentleman  has  been  in  hea- 
ven these  many  years,  and  they  don't  thrive  under 
the  present  administration.  A  party  man  has  got 
to  be  a  party  mouthpiece.  He  may  laugh  and  weep 
with  the  people,  but  he  has  got  to  vote  with  the 
party — and  it's  the  party  man  who  comes  out  on 
top.  Why,  look  at  Withers!  Hunt  about  in  his 
senatorial  record  and  you'll  find  that  he  has  voted 
against  himself  time  out  of  number.  You  and  I 
may  call  that  cowardliness,  but  the  party  calls  it 
honour  and  applauds  every  time.  That  applause 
has  kept  him  the  exponent  of  the  machine  and  the 
idol  of  the  people,  who  hear  the  fuss  and  imagine  it 


330  The  Voice  ^of  the  People 

means  something.  Now  Webb  is  like  Withers,  only 
smarter.  He  is  just  the  man  to  become  a  sounding 
brass  reflector,  and  there's  the  danger." 

"And  yet  I  defeated  him!"  suggested  the 
governor. 

Gait  laughed,  with  a  wave  of  his  thin,  nervous 
hand. 

"  My  dear  governor,  you  are  the  one  great  man  in 
State  politics,  but  that  unimportant  fact  would  not 
have  landed  you  into  your  present  seat  had  not  the 
little  revivalistic  episode  befuddled  the  brains  of  the 
convention." 

Nicholas  shook  his  head  impatiently.  "  You 
make  too  much  of  that,"  he  said. 

"  Perhaps.  I  want  to  impress  upon  you  that  you 
have  a  hard  fight  before  you.  The  Webb  men  are 
already  putting  in  a  little  quiet  work  in  the  legisla- 
ture— and  they  have  even  been  after  the  guards  at 
the  penitentiary.  Major  Rann  is  your  man,  and  he 
tells  me  the  Webb  leaders  are  the  quietest,  most 
insidious  workers  he  has  ever  met.  As  it  is,  he  is 
your  great  card,  and  his  influence  is  immense. 
Webb  would  give  his  right  hand  for  him." 

The  governor  tossed  the  hair  from  his  brow  with 
a  quick  movement. 

"  I  have  the  confidence  of  the  people,"  he  said. 

"The  people!  How  long  does  it  take  a  clever 
politician  to  befuddle  them?  You  aren't  new  to  the 
business,  and  you  know  these  things  as  well  as  I  do 
— or  better.  I  tell  you,  when  Dudley  Webb  begins 
to  stump  the  State  the  people  will  begin  to  howl  for 
him.  He'll  win  over  the  women  and  the  old  Con- 
federates when  he  cets  on  the  Civil  War,  and  the 


The  Voice  of  the  People  331 

rest  will  come  easy.  There  won't  be  need  of  bogus 
ballots  and  disappearing  election  books  when  the 
members  of  the  Democratic  caucus  are  sent  up  next 
session." 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  demanded  the  governor 
abruptly.     He  leaned  forward,  his  arms  on  the  desk. 

Gait  tapped  the  list  of  appointments  significantly. 

"  As  a  beginning,  I  want  you  to  scratch  out  a 
good  two-thirds  of  these  names.  The  others  will  go 
all  right.  The  men  I  have  cross  marked  are  not  all 
Webb  men  to-day,  but  they  will  throw  their  influ- 
ence on  Webb's  side  when  the  pull  comes." 

Nicholas  took  up  the  list  and  reread  it  carefully. 
"  The  men  I  have  named  I  believe  to  be  best  suited 
to  the  positions,"  he  returned.  "  One,  you  may  ob- 
serve, is  a  Republican — that  will  call  for  hostile  criti- 
cism— but  he  was  beyond  doubt  the  best  man.  I 
regret  the  fact  that  the  majority  of  these  men  are 
Webb  partisans,  but  I  wish  to  make  these  appoint- 
ments for  reasons  entirely  apart  from  politics." 

Gait  had  risen,  and  he  now  stood  looking  down 
upon  the  governor  with  a  smile  in  his  eyes. 

"  So  it  goes?  "  he  asked,  pointing  to  the  sheet  of 
paper. 

The  other  nodded. 

"  Yes,  it  goes.  I  am  not  a  fool,  Ben.  I  wish 
things  were  different — but  it  goes." 

"  And  so  do  I,"  laughed  Gait  easily.  "  You  won't 
mind  my  remarking,  by  the  way,  that  you  are  a 
brick,  but  a  brick  in  the  wrong  road.  However, 
you  hold  on  to  Rann,  and  the  rest  of  us  will  hold  on 
to  you.  Oh,  we'll  see  you  to-night  at  Carrie's  com- 
ing-out affair,  of  course.     The  child  wouldn't  have 


332  The  Voice  of  the  People 

you  absent  for  worlds.  If  my  wife  and  daughter 
represented  the  community  you  might  become  Dic- 
tator of  Richmond.     Good  morning !  " 

As  he  crossed  the  little  gallery  where  the  portraits 
hung  there  was  an  abstracted  smile  about  the  cor- 
ners of  his  shrewd  mouth. 


"  Juliet !  "  called  Gait  as  he  swung  open  his  house 
door. 

It  was  his  habit  to  call  for  his  wife  as  soon  as  he 
crossed  the  threshold,  and  she  was  accustomed  to 
respond  from  the  drawing-room,  the  pantry,  or  the 
nursery,  as  the  case  might  be.  This  evening  her 
voice  floated  from  the  dining-room,  and  following 
the  sound  he  stumbled  over  a  shadowy  palm  and 
came  upon  Juliet  as  she  put  the  last  touches  to  a 
long  white  table,  radiant  with  cut  glass  and  roses. 

She  wore  a  faded  blue  dressing-gown,  caught 
loosely  together,  and  her  curling  hair,  untouched 
by  gray,  fell  carelessly  from  its  coil  across  her  full, 
fair  cheek.  She  had  developed  from  a  fragile  girl 
into  a  rounded  matron  without  losing  the  peculiar 
charm  of  her  beauty.  The  abundant  curve  of  her 
white  throat  was  still  angelic  in  its  outline.  As  she 
leaned  over  to  settle  the  silver  candelabra  on  the 
table,  the  light  deepened  the  flush  in  her  face  and 
imparted  a  shifting  radiance  to  her  full-blown  love- 
liness. 

"  How  is  it,  little  woman  ?  "  asked  Gait  as  he  put 
his  arm  about  the  blue  dressing-gown.  "  Working 
yourself  to  death,  are  you  ?  " 

Since  entering  his  home  he  had  lost  entirely  the 
air  of  business-like  severity  which  he  had  worn  all 
day.      He    looked    young   and   credulous.      Juliet 


334  The  Voice  of  the  People 

laughed  with  the  pettish  protest  of  a  half-spoiled 
wife  and  drew  back  from  the  table. 

"  It  is  almost  time  to  dress  Carrie,"  she  said,  "  and 
the  ice-cream  hasn't  come.  Everything  else  is  here. 
Did  you  get  dinner  downtown  ?  " 

"  Such  as  it  was — a  miserable  pretence.  For 
heaven's  sake,  let's  have  this  over  and  settle  down. 
I  only  wish  it  were  Carrie's  wedding;  then  we  might 
hope  for  a  rest." 

"  Until  Julie  comes  out — she's  nearly  fourteen. 
But  you  ought  to  be  ashamed,  when  we've  been 
working  like  Turks.  Eugenia  cut  up  every  bit  of 
the  chicken  salad  and  Emma  Carr  made  the  mayon- 
naise— she  makes  the  most  delicious  you  ever 
tasted.  Aren't  those  candelabra  visions?  Emma 
lent  them  to  me,  and  Mrs.  Randolph  sent  her  ori- 
ental lamps.  There's  the  bell  now !  It  must  be 
Eugie's  extra  forks ;  she  said  she'd  send  them  as 
soon  as  she  got  home." 

"  Good  Lord !  "  ejaculated  Gait  feebly.  "  You 
are  as  great  at  borrowing  as  the  children  of  Israel." 

His  comments  were  cut  short  by  the  entrance  of 
Eugenia's  silver  basket,  accompanied  by  an  enor- 
mous punch  bowl,  which  she  sent  word  she  had 
remembered  at  the  last  moment. 

"  Bless  her  heart !  "  exclaimed  Juliet.  "  She  for- 
gets nothing;  but  I  hope  that  bowl  won't  get 
broken,  it  is  one  somebody  brought  the  general  from 
China  fifty  years  ago.  Eugie  is  so  careless.  She 
invited  the  children  to  tea  the  other  afternoon  and 
I  found  her  giving  them  jam  on  those  old  Tucker 
Royal  Worcester  plates." 

She  broke  off  an  instant  to  draw  Gait  into  the 


The  Voice  of  the  People  335 

reception  rooms,  where  her  eyes  roved  sharply  over 
the  decorations. 

"  They  look  lovely,  don't  they  ?  "  she  inquired,  re- 
arranging a  bowl  of  American  Beauty  roses.  "  I 
got  that  new  man  to  do  them  Mrs.  Carrington  told 
me  about — Yes,  Carrie,  I'm  coming!  Why,  I  de- 
clare, I  haven't  seen  the  baby  since  breakfast.  Un- 
natural mother !  " 

And  she  rushed  off  to  the  nursery,  followed  by 
Gait. 

An  hour  later  she  was  in  the  drawing-room  again, 
her  fair  hair  caught  back  from  her  plump  cheeks, 
her  white  bosom  shining  through  soft  falls  of  lace. 

"  I  wonder  how  a  man  feels  who  isn't  married  to 
a  beauty,"  remarked  Gait,  watching  her  matronly 
vanity  dimple  beneath  his  gaze.  He  was  as  much 
her  lover  as  he  had  been  more  than  twenty  years 
ago  when  pretty  Juliet  Burwell  had  put  back  her 
wedding  veil  to  meet  his  kiss.  The  very  exactions 
of  her  petted  nature  had  served  to  keep  alive  the 
passion  of  his  youth ;  she  demanded  service  as  her 
right,  and  he  yielded  it  as  her  due.  The  unflinching 
shrewdness  of  his  professional  character,  the  hard- 
ness of  his  business  beliefs,  had  never  entered  into 
the  atmosphere  of  his  home.  Juliet  possessed  to  a 
degree  that  pervasive  womanliness  which  vanquishes 
mankind.  After  twenty  years  of  married  life  in 
which  Gait  had  learned  her  limitations  and  her  minor 
sins  of  temperament,  he  was  not  able  to  face  her 
stainless  bosom  or  to  meet  her  pure  eyes  without 
believing  her  to  be  a  saint.  In  his  heart  he  knew 
Sally  Burwell  to  be  a  nobler  woman  than  Juliet,  and 
yet  he  never  found  himself  regarding  Sally  through 


3 $6  The  Voice  of  the  People 

an  outward  and  visible  veil  of  her  virtues.  Even 
Tom  Bassett,  who  was  married  to  her,  had  lost  the 
lover  in  the  husband,  as  his  emotions  had  matured 
into  domestic  sentiment.  Gait  had  seen  Sally  wrestle 
for  a  day  with  one  of  her  father's  headaches,  to  be 
rewarded  by  less  gratitude  than  Juliet  would  receive 
for  the  mere  laying  of  a  white  finger  on  his  temple 
— Sally's  services  were  looked  upon  by  those  who 
loved  her  best  as  one  of  the  daily  facts  of  life ;  Juliet's 
came  always  as  an  additional  bounty. 

To  Gait  himself,  the  different  developments  of 
the  two  women  had  become  a  source  of  almost 
humorous  surprise.  After  her  marriage  Sally  had 
sunk  her  future  into  Tom's ;  Gait  had  submerged 
his  own  in  Juliet's.  Behind  Tom's  not  too  remark- 
able success  Gait  had  seen  always  Sally's  quicker 
wit  and  more  active  nature;  to  his  own  ambitions, 
his  love  for  Juliet  had  been  the  retarding  influence. 
He  had  been  called  "  insanely  aspiring  "  in  his  pro- 
fession, and  yet  he  had  sacrificed  his  career  with- 
out a  murmur  for  the  sake  of  his  wife's  health.  He 
had  sundered  his  professional  interests  in  New 
York  that  he  might  see  the  colour  rebloom  in 
her  cheek,  and  neither  he  nor  she  had  questioned 
that  the  loss  was  justified.  In  return  she  had  ren- 
dered him  a  jealous  loyalty  and  an  absorbing  wife- 
hood, and  he  had  found  his  happiness  apart  from  his 
ambition. 

Now  she  dimpled  as  he  looked  at  her  and  he 
pinched  her  cheek. 

"  The  mother  of  six  children !  "  he  exclaimed ; 
"  they're  changelings."  He  looked  at  Carrie,  who 
was  flitting  nervously  from  room  to  room. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  337 

"  It's  a  shame  she  didn't  take  after  you,"  he  added. 
"  She  carries  the  curse  of  my  chin." 

"  She's  splendid !  "  protested  Juliet.  "  I  never 
had  such  a  figure  in  my  life ;  Sally  says  so.  Carrie 
is  a  new  woman,  that's  the  difference." 

"  But  the  old  lady's  good  enough  for  me,"  finished 
Gait  triumphantly ;  then  he  melted  towards  his 
daughter.  "  I  dare  say  she's  stunning,"  he  ob- 
served. "  Come  here,  Carrie,  and  bear  witness  that 
you're  as  handsome  as  your  parents." 

Carrie  floated  up,  a  straight,  fine  figure  in  white 
organdie,  her  smooth  hair  shining  like  satin  as  it 
rolled  from  her  brow.  Her  mouth  and  chin  were 
too  strong  for  beauty,  but  she  was  frank  and  clean 
and  fresh  to  look  at. 

"  Oh,  I  am  just  like  you,"  she  declared,  "  and  I'm 
not  half  so  pretty  as  mamma.  There's  the  bell. 
Somebody's  coming ! " 

There  was  a  rustle  of  women's  skirts  on  the  way 
upstairs,  and  in  a  moment  several  light-coloured 
gowns  were  fringed  by  the  palms  in  the  doorway. 

When  the  governor  entered,  several  hours  later, 
the  rooms  were  filled  with  warmth  and  laughter  and 
the  vague  perfume  of  women's  dresses  mingled  with 
the  odour  of  American  Beauty  roses.  An  old- 
fashioned  polka  was  in  the  air,  and  beyond  the  fur- 
thest doorway  he  saw  young  people  dancing.  The 
red  candles  were  burning  down,  and  drops  of  wax 
lay  like  flecks  of  blood  upon  the  floor.  Near  the 
entrance,  a  small,  dark  woman  was  leaning  upon  a 
marble  table,  and  as  she  saw  him  she  held  out  a 
cordial  hand.  She  was  plain  and  thin,  with  pale, 
startled  eyes  and  a  mouth  that  slanted  upward  at  one 
22 


338  The  Voice  of  the  People 

corner,  like  a  crooked  seam.  She  spoke  in  an 
abrupt,  skipping  manner  that  possessed  a  surprising 
fascination. 

"  Behold  the  conquering  hero !  "  she  exclaimed, 
her  pale  eyes  roving  from  side  to  side.  "  I  suppose 
if  you  were  never  late,  you  would  never  be  longed 
for." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Preston,"  protested  pretty  little 
Mrs.  Carrington,  who  was  soft  and  drowsy,  with 
eyes  that  reminded  one  of  a  ruminating  heifer's. 

"  I  assure  you,  I  have  been  positively  longing  to 
have  you  gratify  my  curiosity,"  declared  Miss  Pres- 
ton. "  You  know  you  do  such  dear,  eccentric 
things  that  we  couldn't  exist  without  you — at  least 
I  couldn't  because  I  should  perish  of  boredom.  No, 
you  shan't  escape  just  yet,  so  stop  looking  at  that 
beautiful  Mrs.  Gait.  You  must  tell  me  first  if  it  is 
really  true  that  you  once  carried  a  woman  out  of  a 
burning  building  in  your  right  hand.  It  is  so  de- 
lightful to  be  strong,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

The  governor  regarded  her  gravely.  Before  her 
animated  chatter  his  gravity  became  almost  gro- 
tesque. "  The  only  burning  building  I  was  ever  in 
was  a  burning  smoke-house,"  he  returned  quietly. 
"  I  never  carried  a  woman  out  of  anything  in  either 
hand." 

There  was  a  bored  expression  in  his  eyes,  and  he 
glanced  beyond  the  group  to  where  Juliet  stood 
surrounded. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said  in  a  moment,  and  passed 
on. 

In  the  crowd  about  him,  where  pretty  women 
were  as  plentiful  as  pinks  in  a  garden  bed,  he  moved 


The  Voice  of  the  People  339 

awkwardly,  with  the  hesitating  steps  of  a  man  who 
is  uncertain  of  his  pathway.  His  powerful  frame 
and  the  splendid  vigour  in  his  daring  strides  seemed 
out  of  place  amid  a  profusion  of  exotics  that  trem- 
bled as  he  passed.  His  appearance  suggested  the 
battlegrounds  of  nature — high  places,  or  the  breadth 
of  the  open  fields ;  at  the  plough  he  would  have  been 
grandly  picturesque,  in  the  centre  of  a  throng  of 
graceful  men  and  women  he  loomed  merely  large 
and  ill  at  ease.  Above  his  evening  clothes  his  face 
showed  rough,  rather  than  refined,  and  his  stubborn 
jaw  gave  an  impression  of  heaviness. 

As  he  reached  Juliet  she  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  pleasure  and  held  out  her  hand.  "  Emma,  you 
have  heard  of  my  Sunday-school  scholar,"  she  said 
to  a  girl  beside  her.  "  My  prize  scholar,  I  mean. 
Sally,  have  you  seen  the  governor  ?  " 

Emma  Carr,  a  pink-and-white  girl  who  bore  her- 
self with  the  air  of  an  acknowledged  belle,  bowed, 
with  a  platitude  that  sounded  original  on  her  lovely 
lips,  and  Sally  Bassett  turned  with  a  hearty  hand- 
shake. 

"  And  he  is  our  Nick  Burr ! "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Tom,  where  are  you  ?  " 

She  spoke  with  an  impulsive  flutter  which  he  had 
remembered  as  the  sparkle  of  mere  girlish  liveliness. 
Now  he  saw  that  it  had  degenerated  into  a  restless- 
ness that  appeared  to  result  from  a  continued  waste 
of  nervous  energy.  She  looked  older  than  Juliet, 
though  she  was  in  fact  much  younger,  and  her  face 
was  drawn  and  heavily  lined  as  if  by  years  of  ill- 
health.  Her  physical  strength  was  prodigious;  one 
perceived  it  with  the  suddenness  of  surprise.     Much 


340  The  Voice  of  the  People 

the  same  impression  was  produced  by  her  youthful 
manner  in  connection  with  her  worn  features;  yet, 
in  spite  of  her  faded  prettiness,  there  was  a  singular 
charm  in  her  unabated  vivacity. 

She  darted  off  in  pursuit  of  Tom,  to  be  arrested 
by  the  first  newcomer  she  encountered,  and  Nicholas 
was  responding  gravely  to  Juliet's  banter  when  his 
eyes  fell  full  upon  Eugenia  Battle^PFne  stood  at  a 
little  distance. 

He  had  not  seen  her  for  fifteen  years,  and  he 
started  quickly  as  if  from  an  unsuspected  shock.  She 
was  talking  rapidly  in  her  fervent  voice,  the  old 
illumination  in  her  look.  Her  noble  figure,  in  a 
straight  flaxen  gown,  was  drawn  against  a  back- 
ground of  green,  her  head  was  bent  forward  on  her 
long  white  neck,  her  kindly  hands  were  outstretched. 
She  had  developed  from  a  girl  into  a  woman,  but  to 
him  she  was  unchanged.  Her  face  was,  perhaps, 
older,  her  bosom  fuller,  but  he  did  not  see  it — to  him 
she  appeared  as  the  resurrected  spirit  of  his  youth. 
Miss  Carr  was  speaking  and  he  made  some  brief 
rejoinder.  Eugenia  had  turned  and  was  looking 
at  him ;  in  a  moment  he  heard  her  voice. 

"  Are  old  friends  too  far  beneath  the  eyes  of  your 
excellency  ?  "  she  asked,  and  he  heard  the  soft  laugh 
pulse  in  her  throat. 

Her  hand  was  outstretched,  and  he  took  it  for  an 
instant  in  his  own. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  he  remarked  lamely 
as  he  let  it  fall — so  lamely  that  he  bit  his  lip  at  the 
remembrance.     "  You  are  looking  well,"  he  added. 

"  Of  course — a  woman  always  looks  well  at 
night,"   she   answered    lightly.     "  And   you,"    she 


The  Voice  of  the  People  341 

laughed  again,  her  kindly,  unconscious  laugh  ;  "  you 
are  looking — large." 

He  did  not  smile.  "  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  he 
responded,  and  was  silent. 

Juliet  Gait  broke  in  with  an  affectionate  protest. 
"  Eugie  is  as  great  a  tease  as  ever,"  she  said.  "  She 
will  be  the  death  of  my  baby  yet.  I  tell  her  to 
choose  one  of  her  own  size,  but  she  never  does.  She 
always  plagues  those  smaller  than  herself — or 
larger." 

But  Eugenia  had  turned  away  to  greet  a  stranger, 
and  in  a  moment  Nicholas  drew  back  into  a  win- 
dowed embrasure  where  the  lights  were  dim. 

Suddenly  a  voice  broke  upon  his  ear  addressing 
Juliet  Gait — the  vibrant  tones  of  Dudley  Webb.  He 
had  come  in  late  and  was  standing  in  mock  help- 
lessness before  Juliet  and  Carrie,  his  plump  white 
hand  vacillating  between  the  two. 

"  I  am  at  a  loss  !  "  he  exclaimed  with  an  appealing 
shrug  of  his  shoulders.    "  Which  is  the  debutante  ?  " 

Juliet  laughed,  her  cheeks  mantling  with  a  pleased 
blush. 

"  You're  a  sad  flatterer,  Dudley !  Isn't  he, 
Eugie  ?  " 

Eugenia  turned  with  a  questioning  glance. 

"  Oh,  it's  just  his  way,"  she  returned  good-hu- 
mouredly.  "  A  kindly  Providence  has  decreed  that 
he  should  cover  over  my  deficiencies." 

Dudley  protested  affably,  and  ended  by  giving  a 
hand  to  each.  In  the  crowded  rooms  he  had  be- 
come at  once  the  picturesque  and  popular  figure. 
His  magnetism  was  immediately  felt,  and  men  and 
women  surrounded  him  in  small  circles,  while  his 


342  The  Voice  of  the  People 

pleasant  words  ran  on  smoothly,  accompanied  by 
the  ring  of  his  infectious  laugh.  The  luminous 
pallor  of  his  clear-cut,  yet  fleshy  face,  was  accen- 
tuated by  the  sweep  of  his  dark  hair  that  clung 
closely  to  his  forehead.  He  seemed  to  have  brought 
with  him  into  the  heated  rooms  the  spirit  of  humour 
and  the  zest  of  life. 

From  the  deep  embrasure  Nicholas  Burr  watched 
curiously  the  flutter  of  women's  skirts  and  the  flicker 
of  candle  light  on  shining  heads.  Eugenia  moved 
easily  from  group  to  group,  the  straight  fall  of  her 
flaxen  gown  giving  her  an  added  height,  the  dark 
coil  of  hair  on  the  nape  of  her  long  neck  seeming 
to  rise  above  the  shoulders  of  other  women.  She 
was  never  silent — for  one  and  all  she  had  some 
ready  words,  and  her  manner  was  cordial,  almost 
affectionate.  It  was  as  if  she  were  in  the  midst  of 
a  great  family  party,  held  together  by  the  ties  of 
blood. 

In  a  far  corner  Juliet  Gait  and  Emma  Carr,  the 
prettiest  women  in  the  room,  sat  together  upon  a 
corn-coloured  divan,  and  in  front  of  them  a  file  of 
men  passed  and  repassed  slowly  on  their  way  to 
and  from  the  dining-room,  pausing  to  exchange 
brief  remarks  and  drifting  on  aimlessly.  Near  them 
a  fair,  pale  gentleman,  robust  and  slightly  bald,  with 
protruding  eyes  and  anaemic  lips,  had  flung  himself 
upon  a  gilded  chair,  a  glass  of  punch  in  his  hand. 
He  had  danced  incessantly  for  hours  in  the  adjoin- 
ing room,  and  at  last,  wearied,  winded,  with  a  palpi- 
tating heart,  he  had  found  a  punch  bowl  and  a  gilded 
chair. 

Through    the   doorway   floated    music    and    the 


The  Voice  of  the  People  343 

laughter  of  young  girls  intoxicated  with  the  dance. 
In  the  hall,  some  had  sought  rest  upon  the  stairway, 
and  sat  in  radiant  clusters,  fanning  themselves 
briskly  as  they  talked.  There  was  about  them  an 
absence  of  coquetry  as  of  self-consciousness ;  they 
were  frank,  cordial-voiced,  almost  boyish. 

The  governor  stepped  suddenly  from  the  em- 
brasure and  ran  against  Ben  Gait,  who  caught  his 
arm. 

"  I've  been  searching  the  house  for  you,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  after  landing  my  twelfth  matron  in  the 
dining-room."  Then  catching  sight  of  the  other's 
face,  he  inquired  blandly: 

"Bored?" 

"  I  am." 

Gait  gave  a  comprehending  wink. 

"  So  am  I.  These  things  are  death.  I  say,  don't 
go!  Come  into  the  library  and  we'll  lock  the  door 
and  have  supper  shoved  in  through  the  window, 
while  we  talk  business.  I've  a  decanter  of  the  finest 
Madeira  you  ever  tasted  behind  the  bookcase.  Juliet 
will  never  know,  and  I  don't  care  a  continental  if 
she  does.     I'm  a  desperate  man !  " 

"  I  was  just  going,"  replied  the  governor.  "  I'm 
not  up  to  parties ;  but  lead  off,  if  it's  out  of  this." 


VI 

It  was  one  o'clock  when  the  governor  left  Gait's 
house,  and  turning  into  Grace  Street  strolled  lei- 
surely in  the  direction  of  the  Capitol  Square.  The 
night  was  sharp  with  frost  and  a  rising  wind  drove 
the  shadows  on  the  pavement  against  darkened 
house-fronts,  while  behind  a  far-off  church  spire,  a 
wizened  moon  shivered  through  a  thin  cloud.  On 
the  silence  came  the  sound  of  fire  bells  ringing  in  the 
distance. 

The  bronze  Washington  in  the  deserted  square 
shone  silver  beneath  the  moonlight,  and  down  the 
frozen  slopes  the  trees  stretched  out  stiffened  limbs. 
From  the  governor's  house  a  broad  light  streamed, 
and  quickening  his  pace  he  entered  the  iron  gate, 
which  closed  after  him  with  a  rheumatic  cough,  and 
briskly  ascended  the  stone  steps.  As  he  drew  the 
latch-key  from  his  pocket  he  was  thinking  of  his 
library,  where  the  firelight  fell  on  cheerful  walls  and 
red  leathern  chairs,  and  with  the  closing  of  the  door 
he  crossed  the  hall  and  entered  the  first  room  on  the 
left. 

A  red  fire  burned  in  the  grate,  and  the  furniture 
reflected  the  colour  until  the  place  seemed  pervaded 
by  a  visible  warmth.  The  desk  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  the  shining  backs  of  law  books,  the  crimson 
rugs,  the  engravings  on  the  walls,  the  easy  chair 
drawn  up  before  the  hearth,  presented  to  him  as  he 
entered  now  the  securitv  of  individual  isolation.    lie 


The  Voice  of  the  People  345 

had  felt  the  same  sense  of  restfulness  when  he  had 
ascended,  after  the  day's  work,  to  the  little  white- 
washed attic  of  his  father's  house.  To-night  he 
liked  the  glow  because  it  suggested  warmth,  but  he 
could  not  have  told  off-hand  the  colour  of  the  carpet 
or  the  subjects  of  the  engravings  on  the  wall;  and 
had  he  found  a  white  pine  chair  in  place  of  the  red 
leathern  one,  he  would  have  used  it  without  an  ad- 
mission of  discomfort.  In  the  midnight  hours  he 
liked  the  empty  house  about  him — the  silence  and 
the  safeguard  of  his  loneliness.  The  deserted  recep- 
tion-rooms at  the  end  of  the  hall  pleased  him  by  their 
stillness  and  the  cold  of  their  fireless  grates.  Even 
the  stiff,  unyielding  furniture,  in  its  fancy  dress  of 
satin  brocade,  soothed  him  by  its  remoteness  when 
he  passed  it  wrapped  in  thought. 

He  flung  himself  into  the  easy  chair,  raised  the 
light  by  which  he  read,  and  unfolded  a  newspaper 
lying  upon  his  desk.  As  he  did  so  an  article  which 
concerned  himself  caught  his  eye,  and  he  read  it 
with  curious  intentness. 

"THE   MAN   WITH   THE   CONSCIENCE. 

REFUSES     TO     RECOMMEND     THE     PROPOSED 
RESTRICTION   OF   THE   SUFFRAGE. 

ATTACHES    HIS    SIGNATURE    TO    SEVERAL    BILLS.— TO 

AMEND  AND  RE-ENACT  THE    CHARTER  OF  THE 

TOWN    OF    CULPEPER— TO    ESTABLISH    A 

FERRY  ACROSS  THE  PIANKITANK." 

He  reread  it  abstractedly,  pondering  not  the 
future  of  Culpeper  or  of  the  Piankitank  River,  but 
the  title  by  which  he  was  beginning  to  be  known : 


346  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  The  Man  with  the  Conscience !  "  He  had  been 
in  office  less  than  a  month,  and  three  times  within 
the  last  week  he  had  been  called  "  The  Man  with 
the  Conscience."  Once  a  member  of  the  Senate 
had  declared  on  the  floor  that  the  "  two  strongest 
factors  in  present  State  politics  are  found  to  be  in 
the  will  of  the  people  and  the  conscience  of  the  gov- 
ernor." The  morning  papers  had  reported  it,  and 
when,  several  days  later,  he  had  vetoed  a  bill  pro- 
viding to  place  certain  powers  in  the  hands  of  a 
corporation  that  was  backed  by  large  capital,  he 
had  been  hailed  again  as  "  The  Man  with  the  Con- 
science !  "  Now  he  wondered  as  he  read  what  the 
verdict  would  be  to-morrow,  when  his  refusal  to 
sign  a  document  which  lay  at  that  moment  upon  his 
desk  must  become  widely  known.  He  had  refused, 
not  because  the  bill  granted  too  great  rights  to  a 
corporation,  but  because  it  needlessly  restricted  the 
growth  of  a  railroad.  Would  his  refusal  in  this  in- 
stance be  dubbed  "conscience  "  or  "inconsistency"? 

At  the  moment  he  was  the  people's  man — this  he 
knew.  His  name  was  cheered  by  the  general  voice. 
As  he  passed  along  the  street  bootblacks  hurrahed ! 
him.  'vHe  had  determined  that  the  governorship 
should  cease  to  represent  a  figurehead,  and  for  right 
or  wrong,  he  was  the  man  of  the  houp 

He  laid  the  paper  aside,  and  lifting  a  pipe  from  his 
desk,  slowly  lighted  it.  As  the  smoke  curled  up,  it 
circled  in  gray  rings  upon  the  air,  filling  the  room 
with  the  aroma  of  the  Virginia  leaf.  He  watched 
it  idly,  his  mind  upon  the  pile  of  unopened  letters 
awaiting  his  attention.  Above  the  mantel  hung  a 
small  oil  painting  of  a  Confederate  soldier  after  Ap- 


The  Voice  of  the  People  347 

pomattox,  and  it  reminded  him  vaguely  of  some 
one  whom  he  had  half  forgotten.  He  followed  the 
trail  for  a  moment  and  gave  it  up.  Higher  still  was 
an  engraving  of  Mr.  Jefferson  Davis,  with  the  well- 
remembered  Puritan  cast  of  feature  and  the  severe 
chin  beard.  Beneath  the  pictures  a  trivial  ornament 
stood  on  the  mantel  and  beside  it  a  white  rose  in 
water  breathed  a  fading  fragrance.  A  child  who 
had  come  to  feed  the  squirrels  in  the  square  had 
put  the  rose  in  his  coat,  and  he  had  transferred  it 
to  the  glass  of  water. 

He  turned  towards  his  desk  and  took  up  several 
cards  that  he  had  not  seen.  So  Rann  had  called 
in  his  absence — and  Vaden  and  Diggs.  As  he 
pushed  the  cards  aside,  he  summoned  mentally  the 
men  before  him  and  weighed  the  possible  values  of 
each.  Why  had  Rann  called,  he  wondered — he  had 
an  object,  of  course,  for  he  did  not  pay  so  much  as  a 
call  without  a  purpose.  The  name  evoked  the  man 
— he  saw  him  plainly  in  the  circles  of  gray  smoke — 
a  stout,  square  figure,  with  short  legs,  his  plaid  socks 
showing  beneath  light  trousers;  a  red,  hairy  face, 
with  a  wart  in  his  left  eyebrow,  which  was  heavier 
than  his  right  one;  a  large  head,  prematurely  bald, 
and  beneath  an  almost  intellectual  forehead,  a  pair  of 
shrewd,  intelligent  eyes.  Rann  was  a  match  for  any 
man  in  politics,  he  knew — the  great,  silent  voice, 
some  one  had  said — the  man  who  was  clever  enough 
to  let  others  do  his  talking  for  him.  Yes,  he  was 
glad  that  Rann  would  back  him  up. 

The  remaining  callers  appeared  together  in  his 
reverie — Vaden  and  Diggs.  They  were  never  men- 
tioned apart,  and  they  never  worked  singly.     They 


348  The  Voice  of  the  People 

were  honest  men,  whose  honesty  was  dangerous  be- 
cause it  went  with  dull  credulity.  In  appearance  they 
were  so  unlike  as  to  make  the  connection  ludicrous. 
Vaden  was  long,  emaciated,  with  a  shrunken  chest 
in  which  a  consumptive  cough  rattled.  His  face 
was  scholarly,  pallid,  pleasant  to  look  at,  and  there 
was  a  sympathetic  quality  in  his  voice  which  carried 
with  it  a  reminder  of  past  bereavements.  Beside 
the  sentimental  languor  which  enveloped  him,  Diggs 
loomed  grotesquely  fair  and  florid,  with  eyes  bulging 
with  joviality,  and  red,  repellent,  almost  gluttonous 
lips.     He  was  a  teller  of  stories  and  a  maker  of  puns. 

They  were  both  honest  men  and  ardent  Demo- 
crats, but  they  were  in  the  leading  strings  of  sharper 
politicians.  Perhaps,  after  all,  the  fools  were  more 
to  be  feared  than  the  villains. 

Somewhere  in  the  city  a  clock  rang  the  hour,  and, 
as  his  pipe  died  out,  he  rose  and  went  to  his  desk. 

The  next  morning  Vaden  and  Diggs  dropped  in 
to  breakfast,  and  before  it  was  over  he  had  ascer- 
tained that  they  were  seeking  to  sound  him  upon  his 
attitude  towards  the  recent  National  Party  Platform. 
As  he  dodged  their  laboured  cross-examination  he 
laughed  at  the  overdone  assumption  of  indifference. 
Before  they  had  risen  from  the  table,  Rann  joined 
them,  and  the  conversation  branched  at  once  into 
impersonal  topics.  Diggs  told  a  story  or  two,  at 
which  Rann  roared  appreciatively,  while  Vaden  fin- 
gered his  coffee  spoon  in  pensive  abstraction. 

As  they  left  the  dining-room,  which  was  in  the 
basement,  and  ascended  to  the  hall,  Diggs  glanced 
into  the  reception-rooms  and  nodded  respectfully  at 
the  brocaded  chairs. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  349 

"  I  like  the  looks  of  that,  governor,"  he  said,  "  but 
it's  a  pity  you  can't  find  a  wife.  A  woman  gives 
an  air  to  things,  you  know."  Then  he  cocked  an 
eye  at  the  ceiling.  "  This  old  house  ain't  much 
more  than  a  fire  trap,  anyway,"  he  added.  "  The 
trouble  is  it's  gotten  old-fashioned  just  like  the 
Capitol  building  over  there.  My  constituents  are 
all  in  favour  of  doing  the  proud  thing  by  Virginia 
and  giving  her  a  real  up-to-date  State  House.  Bless 
my  life,  the  old  Commonwealth  deserves  a  brown- 
stone  front — now  don't  she  ?  " 

He  appealed  to  Rann,  who  dissented  in  his  broad, 
if  blunt,  intelligence. 

"  I  wouldn't  trade  that  old  building  for  all  the 
brownstone  between  here  and  New  York  harbour," 
he  declared. 

The  governor  laughed  abstractedly,  but  a  week 
later  he  recalled  the  proposition  as  he  sat  in  Juliet 
Gait's  drawing-room,  and  repeated  it  for  the  sake 
of  her  frank  disgust. 

"  I  shall  tell  Eugie,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Eugie 
finds  everything  so  new  that  she  suffers  a  perpetual 
homesickness  for  Kingsborough." 

"  There's  nobody  left  down  there  except  the  judge 
and  Mrs.  Webb,"  broke  in  Carrie;  "  and  you  know 
she  gets  on  dreadfully  with  Mrs.  Webb — now  doesn't 
she,  Aunt  Sally? " 

"  She  never  told  me  so,"  laughed  Sally,  "  but  I 
strongly  suspect  it.  I  don't  disguise  the  fact  that  I 
consider  Mrs.  Webb  to  be  a  terror,  and  Eugie's  a 
long  way  off  from  saintship." 

"  I  hardly  think  that  Mrs.  Webb  would  consent 
to  join  our  colony,"  observed  Nicholas  indifferently. 


350  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  May  Kingsborough  long  enjoy  her  rule,"  added 
Juliet.  "  I  hear  that  she  has  grown  quite  amiable 
towards  the  judge  since  she  prophesied  that  he 
would  have  chronic  gout  and  he  had  it." 

"  It  would  be  so  nice  of  them  to  marry  each 
other,"  suggested  Carrie  with  an  eye  for  matrimonial 
interests.  "  You  needn't  shake  your  head,  mamma. 
Aunt  Sally  said  the  same  thing  to  Uncle  Tom." 

She  was  standing  on  the  hearth  rug  in  her  walk- 
ing gown,  slowly  fastening  her  gloves.  Sally  looked 
at  her  and  laughed  in  her  nervous  way. 

"  Well,  I  confess  that  it  did  cross  my  mind,"  she 
admitted.  "  Tom,  like  all  men,  believed  Mrs.  Webb 
to  be  a  martyr  until  I  convinced  him  that  she  mar- 
tyred others." 

"  Oh,  he  still  believes  it  behind  your  back,"  said 
Nicholas. 

Juliet  turned  upon  him  frankly.  "  It's  a  shame 
to  destroy  wifely  confidence,"  she  protested.  "  Sally 
hasn't  been  married  long  enough  to  know  that  the 
only  way  to  convince  a  husband  is  to  argue  against 
oneself." 

Her  head  rested  upon  the  cushions  of  her  chair, 
and  her  pretty  foot  was  on  the  brass  fender.  There 
was  a  cordial  warmth  about  her  which  turned  the 
simple  room  into  home  for  even  the  casual  caller. 
The  matronly  grace  of  her  movements  evoked  the 
memory  of  infancy  and  motherhood;  to  Nicholas 
Burr  she  seemed,  in  her  beauty  and  her  abundance, 
the  supreme  expression  of  a  type — of  the  joyous 
racial  mother  of  all  men. 

Her  youngest  child,  a  girl  of  three,  that  she  called 
"  baby,"  had  come  in  from  a  walk  and  was  standing 


The  Voice  of  the  People  351 

at  her  knee  in  white  cap  and  cloak  and  mittens, 
her  hand  clutching  Juliet's  dress,  her  solemn  eyes 
on  the  governor.  He  had  tried  to  induce  her  to 
approach,  but  she  held  off  and  regarded  him  with- 
out a  smile. 

"  Now,  now,  baby,"  pleaded  Juliet,  "  who  fed  the 
bunnies  with  you  the  other  day  ?  " 

"  Man,"  responded  the  baby  gravely. 

"  Who  gave  you  nice  nuts  for  the  dear  bunnies  ?  " 

"  Man." 

"  Who  carried  you  all  round  the  pretty  square  ?  " 

"Man." 

"  Who  gave  you  that  lovely  picture  book  full  of 
animals  ?  " 

"  Man." 

"Then  don't  you  love  the  kind  man?" 

"  Noth." 

"  Yes,  you  do — you've  forgotten.  Go  and  speak 
to  him." 

The  child  approached  gravely  to  make  a  grab  at 
his  watch-chain ;  he  lifted  her  to  his  knee,  and  friend- 
ship was  established.  They  were  at  peace  a  moment 
later  when  a  voice  was  heard  in  the  hall,  and  the 
curtains  were  swung  back  as  Eugenia  Webb  en- 
tered, tall  and  glowing,  her  head  rising  from  a  collar 
of  fur.  She  brought  with  her  the  breath  of  frost, 
and  the  winter  red  was  in  her  cheeks,  fading  slowly 
as  she  sat  down  and  threw  off  her  wraps.  He  saw 
then  that  she  looked  older  than  he  thought  and 
that  her  elastic  figure  had  settled  into  matronly  lines. 

She  raised  her  spotted  veil  and  drew  off  her 
gloves. 

"  I    mustn't   talk   myself  out,"   she   was   saying 


352  The  Voice  of  the  People 

lightly,  "  because  Dudley  means  to  make  me  bring 
him  to  call  this  evening.  I  can't  induce  him  to 
come  by  himself — he  simply  won't.  He  considers 
my  mission  in  life  to  be  the  combined  duties  of 
paying  his  calls  and  entertaining  his  legislators.  We 
had  six  senators  to  dinner  last  night,  and  we  pay 
six  visits  this  evening.  Come  here,  Tweedle-dee," 
to  the  baby.  "  Come  to  your  own  Aunt  Eugie 
and  give  her  a  kiss." 

The  child  looked  at  her  thoughtfully  and  shook 
her  head. 

"  Kith  man,"  she  responded  shortly. 

The  swift  red  rose  to  Eugenia's  face.  Nicholas  was 
looking  at  her,  and  her  eyes  flashed  with  the  old 
anger  at  a  senseless  blush. 

"  That's  right,  old  lady,"  said  the  governor  to 
the  child.  "  Tell  her  you'd  rather  kiss  a  man  every 
time." 

"  Of  course  she  had,"  replied  Eugenia  half 
angrily.  "  She's  going  to  be  her  mother  all  over 
again." 

Juliet  laughed  her  full,  soft  laugh.  "  Now,  Eu- 
gie," she  protested  gaily,  "  my  sins  are  many,  but 
spare  me  a  public  confession  of  them." 

"  She  takes  after  her  aunt,"  put  in  Sally  frankly. 
"  I  always  liked  men  better,  and  I  think  it's  un- 
womanly not  to — don't  you,  governor?  " 

Nicholas  put  the  child  down  and  rose. 

"  I'm  afraid  my  womanliness  is  only  skin  deep," 
he  returned,  "  but  I  wouldn't  give  one  honest  man 
for  all  the  women  since  Eve." 

"  Behold  our  far-famed  gallantry  !  "  exclaimed 
Sally. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  353 

Eugenia  looked  up,  laughing.  She  had  seized 
upon  the  child,  and  he  saw  her  dark  eyes  above  the 
solemn  blue  ones. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  aren't  much  of  a  politician,  Gov- 
ernor Burr,  if  you  tell  the  truth  so  roundly,"  she  said. 
"  The  first  lesson  in  politics  is  to  lie  and  love  it ;  the 
second  lesson  is  to  lie  and  live  it.  Oh,  we've  been 
in  Congress,  Dudley  and  I." 

She  moved  restlessly,  and  her  colour  came  and 
went  like  a  flame  that  flickers  and  revives.  He 
wondered  vaguely  at  her  nervous  animation — she 
had  not  possessed  a  nerve  in  her  girlhood — nor  had 
he  seen  this  shifting  restlessness  the  other  night. 
It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  the  meeting  with  him- 
self was  the  cause — he  knew  her  too  well — but  had 
his  presence,  or  some  greater  thing,  aroused  within 
her  painful  memories  of  the  past? 

As  he  walked  down  Franklin  Street  a  little  later 
he  contrasted  boldly  the  two  Eugenias  he  had 
known — the  Eugenia  who  was  his  and  the  Eugenia 
who  was  Dudley  Webb's.  After  fifteen  years  the 
rapture  and  the  agony  of  his  youth  showed  gro- 
tesque to  his  later  vision ;  men  did  not  love  like  that 
at  forty  years.  He  could  see  Eugenia  now  without 
the  quiver  of  a  pulse ;  he  could  sit  across  from  her, 
knowing  that  she  was  the  wife  of  another,  and 
could  eat  his  dinner.  His  passion  was  dead,  but 
where  it  had  bloomed  something  else  drew  life  and 
helped  him  to  live.  He  had  loved  one  woman  and 
he  loved  her  still,  though  with  a  love  which  in  his 
youth  he  would  have  held  to  be  as  ashes  beside  his 
flame.  There  were  months — even  years — when  he 
did  not  think  of  her;  when  he  thought  profoundly 
23 


354  The  Voice  of  the  People 

of  other  things;  but  in  these  years  the  thrill  of  no 
woman's  skirts  had  disturbed  his  calm.  And  again, 
there  were  winter  evenings — evenings  when  he  sat 
beside  the  hearth,  and  there  came  to  him  the  thought 
of  a  home  and  children — of  a  woman's  presence  and 
a  child's  laugh.  He  could  have  loved  the  woman 
well  had  she  been  Eugenia,  and  he  could  have  loved 
the  child  had  it  been  hers ;  but  beyond  her  went 
neither  his  vision  nor  his  desire. 

Now  he  swung  on,  large,  forceful,  a  man  young 
enough  to  feel,  yet  old  enough  to  know.  He  en- 
tered his  door  quickly,  as  was  his  custom,  impatient 
for  his  work  and  his  fireside.  On  his  desk  lay  the 
papers  that  had  been  brought  over  by  his  secretary, 
and  he  ran  his  fingers  carelessly  through  them, 
gleaning  indifferently  the  drift  of  their  contents.  As 
he  did  so  a  light  flashed  suddenly  upon  him,  and  the 
meaning  of  Eugenia's  restlessness  was  made  clear, 
for  upon  his  desk  was  an  application  for  the  pardon 
of  Bernard  Battle. 


VII 


The  paper  was  still  in  his  hand  when  the  door 
behind  him  opened. 

"  A  lady  to  see  you,  suh." 

"  A  lady?  "  He  turned  impatiently  to  find  him- 
self facing  Eugenia  Webb.  She  had  come  so  swiftly, 
with  a  silence  so  apparitional,  that  he  fell  back  as 
from  a  blow  between  the  eyes.  For  a  moment  he 
doubted  her  reality,  and  then  the  glow  in  her  face, 
the  mist  on  her  furs,  the  fog  of  her  breath,  pro- 
claimed that  she  had  followed  closely  upon  his  foot- 
steps. She  must  have  been  almost  beside  him  when 
he  hurried  through  the  frost. 

"  You  wish  to  speak  to  me?  "  he  asked  blankly, 
as  he  drew  a  chair  to  the  hearth  rug.  "  Will  you 
not  sit  down?  " 

There  was  an  unfriendly  question  in  his  eyes,  and 
she  met  it  boldly  with  the  old  dash  of  impulse. 

"  They  told  me  that  to-morrow  would  be  too  late," 
she  said.  "  I  went  to  Ben  Gait's  to  ask  him  to 
come  to  you  in  my  place,  but  he  is  out  of  town.  I 
found  you  there  instead.  It  is  a  matter  of  life  and 
death  to  me,  so  I  came." 

She  sat  down  in  the  chair  he  had  drawn  up  for 
her,  her  muff  fell  to  the  floor,  and  he  placed  it  upon 
the  desk  where  the  petition  lay  unrolled.  As  he  did 
so  he  saw  the  list  of  names  that  presented  the  appeal 
— judge,  jury,  prosecuting  attorney,  all  were  there. 

She  followed  his  gaze  and  moved  slightly  towards 


356  The  Voice  of  the  People 

him.  "  It  can't  be  true  that  you — that  you  will 
not "  she  said. 

He  was  stirring  the  fire  into  flame,  but  as  she 
broke  off  he  turned  squarely  upon  her. 

"  I  have  not  looked  into  the  case,"  he  answered 
harshly. 

He  was  standing  beside  his  own  hearthstone  and 
he  was  at  ease.  There  was  no  awkwardness  about 
him  now;  his  height  endowed  him  with  majesty,  and 
in  his  inflexible  face  there  was  no  suggestion  of 
heaviness.  He  looked  a  man  with  a  sublime  self- 
confidence. 

Her  colour  beat  quickly  back,  warming  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad,"  she  said.  "  When  you  know 
all  you  will  do  as  we  ask  you,  because  it  is  right  and 
just.  If  he  did  not  serve  that  two  years'  sentence 
he  has  served  six  years  of  poverty  and  sickness.  He 
is  a  wreck — we  should  not  know  him,  they  say — 
and  he  has  not  seen  his  wife  and  children  for " 

He  raised  his  hand  and  stopped  her.  A  rising 
anger  clouded  his  face,  and,  as  she  met  his  eyes,  she 
slowly  whitened. 

"  And  you  ask  me — me  of  all  men — to  show 
mercy  to  Bernard  Battle?  Was  there  not  a  gover- 
nor of  Virginia  before  me?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Oh,  it  was  different  then — he  did  not  know,  and 
we  did  not  know,  everything.  For  years  we  had 
not  heard  from  him " 

"  So  my  predecessor  refused?"  he  asked. 

She  bowed  her  head.  "  But  it  is  so  different  now 
— every  one  is  with  us." 

He  was  looking  her  over  grimly  in  an  anger  that 


The  Voice  of  the  People  is  7      i        J*' 

seemed  an  emotional  reversion  to  the  past — as  he      b6^S  L 
felt  himself  reverting  with  all  his  strength  to  the     (t\)Off{' 
original  savage  of  the  race.     The  hour  for  which  he 
had  starved  sixteen  years  ago  was  unfolding  for  him 
at  last.      He  gloated  over  it  with  a  passion  that 
would  sicken  him  when  it  was  done. 

"  When  you  came  to  me,"  he  said  slowly,  "  did 
you  remember " 

She  had  risen  and  was  standing  before  him,  her 
hands  hidden  in  the  fur  upon  her  bosom.  She  was 
pleading  now  with  startled  eyes  and  cold  lips — she 
who  had  turned  from  him  when  the  first  lie  was 
spoken — she  was  pleading  for  the  man  who  had 
blackened  his  friend's  honour  that  he  might  shield 
his  own — she  was  pleading  though  she  knew  his 
baseness.  The  very  nobility  of  her  posture — the 
nobility  that  he  had  found  outwardly  in  no  other 
woman — hardened  the  man  before  her.  The  cold 
brow,  the  fervent  mouth,  the  fearless  eyes,  the  lines 
with  which  Time  had  chastened  into  womanliness 
her  girlish  figure — these  had  become  the  expression 
of  an  invincible  regret.  As  he  faced  her  the  iron  of 
his  nature  held  him  as  in  a  vise,  for  life,  which  had 
made  him  a  just  man,  had  not  made  him  a  gentle  one. 

But  her  spirit  had  risen  to  match  with  his.  "  He 
wronged  you  once,"  she  said;  "  let  it  pass — we  have 
all  been  young  and  very  ignorant ;  but  we  do  not 
make  our  lives,  thank  God." 

He  looked  at  her  in  silence. 

Then,  as  he  stood  there,  the  walls  of  the  room 
passed  from  before  his  eyes,  and  the  gray  light  from 
the  western  window  was  falling  upon  the  white  road 
beyond  the  cedars.     The  vague  pasture  swept  to  the 


358  The  Voice  of  the  People 

far-off  horizon  where  hung  the  solitary  star  above 
the  sunset.  From  the  west  a  light  wind  blew,  and 
into  their  faces  dead  leaves  whirled  from  denuded 
trees  far  distant.  But  surest  of  all  was  this — he 
hated  now  as  he  hated  then.  "  As  for  him — may 
God,  in  His  mercy,  damn  him,"  he  had  said. 

"  Because  he  wronged  you  do  not  wrong  your- 
self," she  spoke  fearlessly,  but  she  fell  back  with  an 
upward  movement  of  her  hands.  The  man  was  be- 
fore her  as  the  memory  had  been  for  years — she 
knew  the  distorted  features,  the  convulsed,  closed 
mouth,  the  furrow  that  cleft  the  forehead  like  a  scar. 
She  saw  the  savage  as  she  had  seen  it  once  before, 
and  she  braved  it  now  as  she  had  braved  it  then. 

"  You  are  hard — as  hard  as  life,"  she  said. 

"  Life  is  as  we  make  it,"  he  retorted.  He  lifted 
her  muff  from  the  desk  and  she  took  it  from  him, 
turning  towards  the  door.  As  he  followed  her  into 
the  hall  he  spoke  slowly:  "  I  shall  read  the  papers 
that  relate  to  the  case,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  do  my 
duty.  You  were  mistaken  if  you  supposed  that  your 
coming  to  me  would  influence  my  decision.  Per- 
sonal appeal  rarely  avails  and  is  often  painful." 

He  unlatched  the  outer  door  and  she  passed  out 
and  descended  the  steps. 

When  he  returned  to  the  fire  he  was  shivering 
from  the  draught  let  in  by  the  opening  doors,  and, 
lifting  the  fallen  poker,  he  attacked  almost  fiercely 
the  slumbering  coals.  The  physical  shock  had  not 
tempered  the  rage  within;  he  felt  it  gnawing  upon 
his  entrails  like  a  beast  of  prey.  Once  only  in  his 
life  had  he  found  himself  so  powerless  before  a  de- 
vouring passion,  and  then,  as  now,  he  had  glutted 


The  Voice  of  the  People  359 

it  with  wounded  love.  Then,  as  now,  he  had  hated 
with  a  terrible  desire. 

The  application  lay  upon  his  desk,  and  he  pushed 
it  out  of  sight.  He  could  not  read  it  now — he  won- 
dered if  the  time  would  ever  come  when  he  could 
read  it.  The  thought  smote  him  with  the  lash  of 
fear — the  fear  of  himself.  He  who  an  hour  ago  had 
held  his  assurance  to  be  beyond  assault  was  now 
watching  for  the  death  of  his  hate  as  he  might  have 
watched  for  the  death  of  a  wolf  whose  fangs  he  had 
felt. 

Lifting  his  head,  he  could  see  through  the  cur- 
tained window  the  chill  slopes  of  the  square  and  the 
circular  drive  beneath  the  great  bronze  Washing- 
ton. Beyond  the  distant  gates  rose  the  church 
spires  of  the  city,  suffused  with  the  pink  flush  of 
sunset.  The  atmosphere  glowed  like  a  blush  upon 
the  perspective,  which  was  shading  through  varia- 
tions of  violet  remoteness.  All  was  frozen  save  the 
winter  sunset  and  the  advancing  twilight. 

He  turned  from  the  window  and  faced  the  paint- 
ing of  the  Confederate  soldier.  For  a  moment  he 
regarded  it  blankly,  then,  pushing  aside  Eugenia's 
chair  he  threw  himself  into  one  across  from  it.  He 
was  thinking  of  Bernard  Battle,  and  he  remembered 
suddenly  that  he  must  have  hated  him  always — that 
he  had  hated  him  long  ago  in  his  childhood  when  the 
weak-faced  boy  had  headed  a  school  faction  against 
him.  True,  Dudley  Webb  had  incited  the  attempt  at 
social  ostracism,  but  he  bore  no  resentment  against 
Dudley — on  the  contrary,  he  was  convinced  that  he 
liked  him  in  spite  of  all — in  spite,  even,  of  Eugenia. 
With  the  inflexible  fairness  that  he  never  lost,  he 


360  The  Voice  of  the  People 

knew  that,  with  Eugenia,  Dudley  had  not  wronged 
him.  It  had  been  a  fight  in  open  field,  and  Dudley 
had  won.  He  had  even  liked  the  vigour  of  his 
wooing,  and  some  years  later,  when  they  had  met,  he 
had  given  the  victor  a  hearty  handshake.  He  dis- 
trusted him  as  a  politician,  but  he  liked  him  as  a  man. 

And  Bernard  Battle.  That  was  an  honest  hate, 
and  he  hugged  it  to  him.  Before  him  still,  so  vivid 
that  it  seemed  but  yesterday,  hovered  the  memory 
of  that  wild  evening  in  the  road,  and  the  unforgotten 
sunset  faced  him  as  he  hurried  through  the  wood. 
In  the  acuteness  of  his  remembered  senses  he  could 
hear  the  dead  leaves  rustle  in  his  pathway  and  could 
smell  the  vague  scents  of  autumn  drifting  on  the 
wind.  Through  all  the  years  of  public  life  and  pas- 
sionate endeavour  he  had  not  lost  one  colour  of  the 
painted  clouds  or  missed  one  note  from  the  sharp 
tangle  of  autumn  odours.  To  this  day  the  going 
down  of  the  sun  in  red  and  gold  awoke  within  him 
the  impulse  of  revenge,  and  the  effluvium  of  rotting 
flowers  or  the  tang  of  pines  revived  the  duller  ache 
of  his  senseless  rage. 

On  that  evening  he  had  buried  his  youth  with  his 
youthful  passion.  The  hours  between  the  twilight 
and  the  dawn  had  seen  his  emotions  consumed  and 
his  softer  side  laid  waste.  Since  then  he  had  not 
played  saint  or  martyr ;  he  had  gone  his  way  among 
women,  and  he  had  liked  some  good  ones  and  some 
bad  ones — but  the  turn  of  Eugenia's  head  or  the 
trick  of  her  voice  had  haunted  him  in  one  and  all. 
He  had  followed  the  resemblance  and  had  found  the 
vacancy;  he  had  been  from  first  to  last  a  man  of  one 
ideal.     His  nature  had  broadened,  hardened,  rung 


The  Voice  of  the  People  361 

metallic  to  the  senses;  but  it  had  not  yielded  to  the 
shock  of  fresh  emotions.  He  had  loved  one  woman 
from  her  childhood  up. 

And  again  she  rose  before  him  as  in  that  Indian 
summer  when  he  knew  her  best — her  beauty  flaming 
against  the  autumn  landscape,  "  clear  as  the  sun, 
and  terrible  as  an  army  with  banners."  He  saw  her 
red  or  pale,  quivering  or  cold,  always  passing  from 
him  in  a  splendour  of  colours  that  was  like  the  clash 
of  music. 

That  was  sixteen  years  ago  and  it  seemed  but 
yesterday.  He  had  lost  her,  and  yet  he  had  not 
been  unhappy,  for  he  had  learned  that  it  is  not  gain 
that  makes  happiness  nor  loss  that  kills  it.  Life 
had  long  since  taught  him  the  lesson  all  great  men 
learn — that  happiness  is  but  one  result  of  the  ad- 
justment of  the  individual  needs  to  the  Eternal 
Laws.  A  man  had  once  said  of  him,  "  Burr  must 
think  a  lot  of  life;  he  bears  it  so  blamed  well.  He's 
the  happiest  man  I  know,"  and  Burr,  overhearing 
him,  had  laughed  aloud: 

"  Am  I?     I  have  never  thought  about  it." 

He  did  not  think  about  life,  he  lived  it;  this  was 
the  beginning  and  the  end  of  his  success. 

The  face  of  Eugenia  faded  slowly  into  the  fire- 
light, and  he  rose  and  shook  himself  like  a  man  who 
awakes  from  a  nightmare.  There  was  work  for  him 
at  his  desk,  and  he  settled  to  it  with  sudden  deter- 
mination. 

A  week  later  the  papers  were  still  in  his  desk. 
He  told  himself  at  first  that  he  would  send  them  to 
Kingsborough  to  Judge  Bassett  and  abide  by  his 
decision  ;  but  the  course  struck  him  as  cowardly  and 


362  The  Voice  of  the  People 

he  put  it  from  him.  The  work  was  his  and  he  would 
do  it.  Then  for  a  week  longer  he  went  on  his  way 
and  did  not  think  of  them.  His  days  were  filled 
with  work  and  it  was  easy  to  leave  disturbing 
thoughts  alone;  what  was  not  easy  was  to  consider 
them  judicially. 

At  last  Gait  spoke  of  the  matter,  and  he  could  not 
refuse  to  listen. 

"  By  the  way,  I  am  hearing  a  good  deal  about 
that  Battle  pardon,"  Gait  said.  "  You  are  looking 
into  the  matter,  I  suppose?  " 

The  other  shook  his  head. 

"  I  have  not  done  so  as  yet,"  he  answered.  "  I 
am  waiting." 

"  Don't  wait  too  long  or  the  poor  devil  may  apply 
higher.  He's  ill,  I  believe,  and  if  he  insists  on  re- 
turning to  the  State,  as  they  say  he  will,  the  law  can't 
help  but  arrest  him.  It's  a  sad  case.  So  far  as  I 
can  see  he  was  a  catspaw  for  the  real  criminal  and 
didn't  have  sense  enough  to  hold  on  to  a  share  of 
the  money  after  he  sold  himself.  His  sister  has 
been  to  see  you,  hasn't  she?  She's  a  superb  woman, 
and  it  was  a  good  day  for  Dudley  Webb  when  he 
married  her." 

He  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"  Ah,  what  were  you  saying  ? "  asked  the 
governor. 

That  night  he  locked  himself  in  with  the  papers 
and  plunged  into  the  case.  He  read  and  reread  each 
written  word  until  he  was  in  possession  of  the  mi- 
nutest detail.  In  another  instance  he  knew  that  the 
reasons  for  granting  the  pardon  would  have  seemed 
sufficient,  and  he  would  probably  have  had  it  made 


The  Voice  of  the  People  363 

out  at  once.  As  it  was,  he  admitted  the  force  of  the 
appeal,  but  something  stronger  than  himself  held 
him  back.  Above  the  name  before  him  he  saw  the 
girlish  face  of  the  man  he  hated — saw  it  accusing, 
defying,  beseeching — and  beyond  it  he  saw  the  gray 
road  and  the  solitary  star  above  the  sunset.  In  the 
silence  his  own  voice  echoed,  "  As  for  him — may 
God,  in  His  mercy,  damn  him." 

He  locked  the  papers  away  again.  "  I  cannot  do 
it,"  he  said. 

Several  days  later  he  sent  for  a  member  of  the 
legislature  from  the  town  where  the  crime  was  com- 
mitted. He  questioned  him  closely,  but  without  re- 
sult— the  people  up  there  were  tired  of  it,  the  man 
said — at  first  they  had  been  wrought  up,  but  six 
years  is  a  long  time,  and  they  didn't  care  much  about 
it  now.  As  the  governor  closed  the  interview  he 
realised  that  he  had  hoped  a  bitter  hope  that  his 
revenge  might  be  justified.  When  the  door  had 
shut,  he  went  back  to  the  case  again,  and  again  he 
left  it.  "  It  ought  to  be  done,  but,  God  help  me,  I 
cannot  do  it,"  he  said. 

The  next  morning,  while  he  was  at  work  in  his 
office  in  the  Capitol,  his  secretary  came  in  to  tell 
him  that  Miss  Christina  Battle  was  in  the  anteroom. 
He  rose  hurriedly.  "  I  will  see  her  at  once,"  he  said, 
and  he  opened  the  door  as  Miss  Chris  came  in,  pant- 
ing softly  from  her  ascent  in  the  elevator. 

She  had  changed  so  little  that  he  took  her  hand 
in  sudden  timidity,  recalling  the  days  when  he  had 
sold  her  chickens  before  her  hen-house  door.  But 
when  he  had  settled  her  in  one  of  the  cane  rocking 
chairs  beside  the  stove,  his  confidence  returned  and 


364  The  Voice  of  the  People 

he  responded  heartily  to  her  beneficent  beam.  Her 
florid  face,  shining  large  and  luminous  above  the 
stiff  black  strings  of  her  bonnet,  reminded  him  of 
illustrations  he  had  seen  in  which  the  sun  is  endowed 
with  human  features  and  an  enveloping  smile. 

"  This  is  the  greatest  honour  my  office  has 
brought  me,"  he  said  with  sincerity. 

She  laughed  softly,  smoothing  her  black  kid  glove 
above  her  plump  wrist. 

"  I  don't  know  what  they  mean  by  saying  you 
aren't  a  lady's  man,  Governor  Burr,"  she  returned. 
"  I  am  sure  old  Judge  Blitherstone  himself  never 
turned  a  prettier  compliment,  and  he  lived  to  be  up- 
wards of  ninety  and  did  them  better  every  day  of  his 
life.  They  used  to  say  that  when  Mrs.  Peachy 
Tucker  dropped  in  to  see  him  as  he  was  breathing 
his  last,  and  told  him  to  look  forward  to  the  joys  of 
heaven  and  the  communion  of  saints,  he  replied, 
'  Madam,  if  you  remain  with  me  I  shall  merely  pass 
from  one  heaven  to  another,'  and  they  were  his  last 
words." 

The  governor  smiled  into  her  beautiful,  girlish 
eyes.  "  Men  have  spoken  worse  ones,"  he  said,  her 
kindliness  warming  him  like  a  cordial. 

"  It  was  good  of  you  to  come,"  he  added. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  protested  Miss  Chris  with  em- 
phasis. "  It's  all  about  that  poor,  foolish  boy — he's 
still  a  boy  to  me,  and  so  are  you  for  that  matter. 
You  know  how  wicked  he  has  been  and  how  miser- 
able he  has  made  us  all,  for  you  can't  stop  loving 
people  just  because  they  are  bad.  Now  you  are 
a  good  man,  Governor  Burr,  and  that's  why  I  came 
to  you.     You'll  do  right  if  it  kills  you,  and  whatever 


The  Voice  of  the  People  365 

you  do  in  this  matter  is  going  to  be  the  right  thing. 
You  can't  help  being  good  any  more  than  he  can 
help  being  bad,  and  I  hope  the  Lord  understands 
this  as  well  as  I  do — I  don't  know,  I'm  sure — some- 
times it  looks  as  if  He  didn't;  but  we'd  just  as  well 
trust  Him,  because  there's  nothing  else  for  us  to  do. 

"  Now  the  foolish  boy  wronged  you  more  than  he 
wronged  us ;  but  you'll  forgive  him  as  we  forgave 
him,  when  you  know  what  he's  suffered.  It's  better 
to  be  sinned  against  than  to  sin,  God  knows." 

Her  eyes  were  moist  and  her  lips  trembled.  The 
governor  crossed  to  where  she  sat  and  took  her 
hand. 

"  Dear  Miss  Chris,"  he  said,  "  women  like  you 
make  men  heroes."  And  he  added  quickly,  "  The 
pardon  is  being  made  out.  When  it  is  ready  I  will 
sign  it." 

She  looked  at  him  an  instant  in  silence;  then  she 
rose  heavily  to  her  feet,  leaning  upon  his  arm. 
"  You're  a  great  man,  Nick  Burr,"  she  said  softly. 

An  hour  later  Nicholas  Burr  looked  calmly  down 
upon  his  signature  that  meant  freedom  for  Bernard 
Battle.  He  had  won  the  victory  of  his  life,  and  he 
was  feeling  with  a  glow  of  self-appreciation  that  he 
had  done  a  generous  thing. 


VIII 

Miss  Chris,  in  her  hired  carriage,  rolled  leisurely 
into  Franklin  Street,  where  pretty  women  in  visit- 
ing gowns  were  going  in  and  out  of  doorways.  She 
leaned  out  and  bowed  smilingly  several  times,  but 
she  was  not  thinking  of  the  gracefully  dressed  callers 
or  of  the  houses  into  which  they  went.  When 
Emma  Carr  threw  her  a  kiss  from  Gait's  porch,  she 
responded  amiably;  but  she  was  as  blind  to  the  affec- 
tionate gesture  as  to  the  striking  beauty  of  the  girl 
in  her  winter  furs. 

Up  the  quiet  street  the  leafless  trees  made  a  gray 
vista  that  melted  into  transparent  mist.  The  sun- 
shine stretched  in  pale  gold  bars  from  sidewalk  to 
sidewalk,  and  overhead  the  sky  was  of  a  rare  Italian 
blue.  But  for  the  frost  in  the  air  and  the  naked 
boughs,  it  might  have  been  a  day  in  April. 

Presently  the  carriage  turned  into  Main  Street, 
halting  abruptly  while  a  trolley  car  shot  past. 
"  Please  be  very  careful,"  called  Miss  Chris  ner- 
vously, gathering  herself  together  as  they  stopped 
before  a  big  gray  house  that  faced  a  gray  church 
on  the  opposite  corner.  A  flight  of  stone  steps  ran 
from  the  doorway  to  a  short  tesselated  entrance  lead- 
ing to  the  street,  where  two  scraggy  poplars  still 
held  aloft  the  withered  skeletons  of  last  year's  tulips. 
The  Webbs  had  taken  the  house  because  the  box 
bushes  in  the  yard  reminded  Eugenia  of  Battle 


The  Voice  of  the  People  367 

Hall,  while  Dudley  declared  it  to  be  the  best  breath- 
ing space  he  could  get  for  the  money. 

"  We  done  git  back,  Mistis,"  announced  the  negro 
driver,  descending  from  his  perch,  and  at  the  same 
instant  the  door  of  the  house  flew  open  and  Eugenia 
ran  out,  bareheaded,  followed  by  Dudley. 

"  I  saw  you  from  the  window,  Aunt  Chris,"  she 
cried,  "  and  now  I  want  to  know  the  meaning  of 
this  mystery.  Dudley  suspects  you  of  having  a 
lover,  but  I  am  positive  that  you've  stolen  a  march 
on  me  and  have  been  to  market.  What  a  pity  I  con- 
fessed to  you  that  I  couldn't  tell  brains  from  sweet- 
breads." 

"  Let  me  get  there,  Eugie,"  said  Dudley,  as  Miss 
Chris  emerged  with  the  assistance  of  the  driver. 
"  Take  my  arm,  Aunt  Chris,  and  I'll  hoist  you  into 
the  house  before  you  know  it." 

"  Well,  I  declare,"  remarked  Miss  Chris,  carefully 
stepping  forth.  "  I  don't  know  when  I've  had  such 
a  turn.  These  street  car  drivers  have  lost  all  their 
manners.  If  we  hadn't  pulled  up  in  time,  I  believe 
he  would  have  gone  right  into  us.  And  to  think 
that  a  few  years  ago  we  never  got  ready  to  go  to 
market  until  the  car  was  at  the  door.  Betty  Taylor 
used  to  call  to  the  driver  every  morning  to  wait  till 
she  put  on  her  bonnet — and  time  and  again  I've 
seen  him  stop  because  she  had  forgotten  her  list  of 
groceries.  Now,  if  you  weren't  standing  right  on 
the  corner,  I  actually  believe  they'd  go  by  without 
you." 

"  That's  progress,  Aunt  Chris,"  responded  Dud- 
ley cheerfully. 

Here  the  driver  insisted  upon  lending  a  hand,  and 


368  The  Voice  of  the  People 

between  them  they  established  Miss  Chris  before  the 
fire  in  the  sitting-room.  "  I  wish  you'd  make  Giles 
go  out  and  pick  up  that  loose  paper  that's  scattered 
on  the  pavement,"  she  said  to  Eugenia.  "  It  looks 
so  untidy.     If  I  wasn't  rheumatic  I'd  do  it  myself." 

Dudley  and  Eugenia  seated  themselves  across 
from  her.  "  Now  where  have  you  been,  Aunt 
Chris  ?  "  they  demanded. 

Miss  Chris  laughed  softly  as  she  took  off  her 
bonnet  and  gloves  and  gave  them  to  Eugenia ;  then 
she  unfastened  her  cape  and  passed  it  over. 

"  You'll  never  find  out  that,  my  dears,"  she  re- 
turned. "  I'm  not  too  old  to  keep  a  secret.  Why, 
I've  gone  and  lost  my  bag.  Didn't  I  carry  that  bag 
with  me,  Eugenia?  " 

"  Of  course  you  did,"  said  Eugenia.  "  Never 
mind,  I'll  make  you  another."  She  went  out  to 
put  away  Miss  Chris's  wraps,  and  came  back  pres- 
ently, laughing. 

"  Have  you  found  out  her  secret,  Dudley  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  If  she  doesn't  tell  you,  it  will  die  with 
her." 

"  I  know  better  than  to  ask,"  returned  Dudley 
good-humouredly.  "  That's  the  reason  I'm  her 
favourite.  I  don't  ask  impertinent  questions,  do  I, 
Aunt  Chris  ?  " 

"  Bless  you,  no,"  responded  Miss  Chris  serenely, 
as  she  stretched  out  her  feet  in  their  cloth  shoes. 

"  You're  her  favourite  because  you  happen  to  be  a 
man,"  protested  Eugenia.  "  She  comes  of  a  gen- 
eration of  man  spoilers.  I  believe  she  thinks  I 
ought  to  bring  you  your  slippers  in  the  evening — 
now  don't  you,  Aunt  Chris  ?  " 


The  Voice  of  the  People  369 

"  My  dear  mother  always  brought  them  to  my 
father,"  replied  Miss  Chris  placidly.  "  It  was  her 
pleasure  to  wait  on  him." 

"  And  it  is  mine  to  have  Dudley  wait  on  me.  But 
you  do  make  an  unfair  difference  between  us,  Aunt 
Chris.  Why  did  you  call  me  '  uncharitable  '  when 
I  said  Mrs.  Gordon  painted  immodestly !  Dudley 
said  the  same  thing  this  morning,  and  you  only 
smiled." 

"  It  was  uncharitable,  my  dear,  and  besides  it  is 
too  palpable  to  need  mention — but  men  will  be 
men." 

Eugenia  frowned.  "  I  wish  you  would  occasion- 
ally remember  that  women  will  be  women,"  she 
suggested.  She  wore  a  scarlet  shirtwaist,  and  the 
glow  from  the  fire  seemed  to  follow  her  about. 

"  I  won't  have  Aunt  Chris  bullied,  Eugie,"  de- 
clared Dudley  as  he  rose.  "  Well,  I'm  off  again. 
I  may  bring  a  legislator  or  two  back  to  dinner. 
What  have  we  got?  " 

"  The  Lord  knows,"  replied  Eugenia  desperately. 
"  Our  third  cook  this  month  for  one  thing,  and 
Congo  refuses  to  serve  dinner  in  courses.  He  says 
'  dar's  too  much  shufflin'  er  de  dishes  for  too  little 
victuals.'  " 

Dudley  laughed  at  her  mimicry. 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  we'll  do,"  he  said.  "  By  the  way, 
don't  forget  to  call  on  Mrs.  Rann  to-day." 

Miss  Chris  was  gazing  placidly  into  the  fire.  As 
Dudley  turned  with  his 'hand  on  the  door  knob, 
she  looked  up. 

"  I  was  surprised  to  find  the  Capitol  so  dirty,"  she 
observed  regretfully. 
24 


37o  The  Voice  of  the  People 

Dudley  swung  round  breathlessly. 

"  Well,  I  am — blessed !  "  he  gasped. 

"  So  that's  where  you've  been !  "  cried  Eugenia. 
She  threw  herself  beside  Miss  Chris's  chair.  "  What 
did  he  say,  Aunt  Chris  ?  "  she  implored. 

Miss  Chris  blushed  with  confusion. 

"Well,  if  I  haven't  let  it  out!"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Who'd  have  thought  I  couldn't  keep  a  secret  at 
my  age."  Then  she  patted  Eugenia's  hand.  "  He's 
a  good  man,"  she  said  softly,  "  and  it's  all  right 
about  Bernard." 

"  I  knew  it  would  be,"  said  Dudley  quickly.  "You 
know,  Eugie,  I  always  told  you  he'd  do  it." 

But  Eugenia  had  turned  away  with  swimming 
eyes.  "  I  must  tell  Lottie,"  she  said  hurriedly. 
"  Oh,  Aunt  Chris,  how  could  you  keep  it  ?  To 
think  the  children  are  at  school !  " 

Dudley,  with  an  afterthought,  turned  from  the 
door  and  gave  her  an  affectionate  pat  on  the  shoul- 
der. "  It's  fine  news,  old  girl,"  he  said  cheerfully, 
and  Eugenia  smiled  at  him  through  her  tears. 

As  he  went  out  she  followed  him  into  the  hall  and 
slowly  ascended  the  stairs.  On  the  landing  above 
she  entered  a  room  where  Bernard's  wife  was  lying 
on  a  wicker  couch,  cutting  the  pages  of  a  magazine. 

"  Lottie,  I've  good  news  for  you,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  the  best  of  news." 

Lottie  tossed  aside  the  magazine  and  raised  her- 
self on  her  elbow.  She  had  a  pretty,  ineffectual  face 
and  a  girlish  figure,  and,  despite  her  faded  colouring, 
looked  almost  helplessly  young.  Her  round  white 
hands  were  as  weak  as  a  child's. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  it  can  be,"  she  re- 


The  Voice  of  the  People  371 

turned.  "  You  look  awfully  well  in  that  red  waist, 
Eugie.     I  think  I'll  get  one  like  it." 

Eugenia  picked  up  a  child's  story  book  from  the 
rug  and  laid  it  on  the  table ;  then  she  stood  looking 
gravely  down  on  the  younger  woman. 

"  Can't  you  guess  what  it  is?  "  she  asked. 

Lottie  looked  up  with  a  nervous  blinking  of  her 
eyes.  She  had  paled  slightly  and  she  leaned  over 
and  drew  an  eiderdown  quilt  across  her  knees. 

"  It — it's  not  about  Bernard  ?  "  she  asked  in  a 
whisper. 

"  Yes,  it  is  about  Bernard.  You  may  go  to  him 
and  bring  him  home.  You  may  go  to-morrow. 
Oh,  Lottie,  doesn't  it  make  you  happy?" 

Lottie  drew  the  eiderdown  quilt  still  higher.  She 
was  not  looking  at  Eugenia,  and  her  mouth  had 
grown  sullen.  "  I  don't  see  why  you  send  me,"  she 
said.  "Why  can't  Jack  Tucker  bring  him  home? 
He's  with  him." 

"  But  I  thought  you  wanted  to  go,"  returned 
Eugenia  blankly. 

"  I  haven't  seen  him  for  six  years,"  said  Lottie, 
her  face  still  turned  away.  "  He  is  almost  a 
stranger — and  I  am  afraid  of  him." 

"  Oh,  Lottie,  he  loves  you  so !  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  protested  Lottie.  "  He  has  been 
so  wicked." 

Eugenia  was  looking  down  upon  her  with  dis- 
mayed eyes. 

"  Don't  you  love  him,  Lottie  ?  "  she  asked. 

For  a  moment  the  other  did  not  reply.  Her  lips 
trembled  and  her  knees  were  shaking  beneath  the 
eiderdown  quilt.     Then  with  a  slow  turn  of  the  head 


372  The  Voice  of  the  People 

she  looked  up  doggedly.  "  I  believe  I  hate  him," 
she  answered. 

A  swift  flush  rose  to  Eugenia's  face,  her  eyes 
flashed  angrily,  she  took  a  step  forward.  "  And  you 
are  his  wife !  "  she  cried. 

But  Lottie  had  turned  at  last.  She  flung  the  quilt 
aside  and  rose  to  her  feet,  her  girlish  figure  quiver- 
ing in  its  beribboned  wrapper.  There  were  bright 
pink  spots  in  her  cheeks. 

"  Yes,  I  am  his  wife,  God  help  me,"  she  said. 

Eugenia  had  drawn  back  before  the  childish 
desperation.  Lottie  had  never  revolted  before — 
she  had  thought  Eugenia's  thoughts  and  weakly 
lived  up  to  Eugenia's  conception  of  her  duty.  She 
had  been  meek  and  amiable  and  ineffectual ;  but  it 
came  to  Eugenia  with  a  shock  that  she  had  never 
admired  her  until  to-day — until  the  hour  of  her 
rebellion. 

She  spoke  sternly — as  she  might  have  spoken  to 
herself  in  a  moment  of  dear,  but  dismal  failure. 

"  Hush,"  she  commanded.  "  You  are  one  of  us, 
and  you  have  no  right  to  desert  us.  It  is  because 
you  are  his  wife  that  my  home  is  yours  and  your 
children's.  I  am  only  his  sister,  and  I  have  stood 
by  him  through  it  all.  Do  you  think,  if  his  sins  were 
twenty  times  as  great,  that  I  should  fall  away  from 
him  now?  " 

Lottie  looked  at  her  and  laughed — a  little  heart- 
less laugh. 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  not  a  Battle,"  she  replied  bitterly. 
"  Battle  sins  are  just  like  other  people's  sins  to  me." 

Then  she  raised  her  pretty,  nerveless  hands  to  her 
throat. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  373 

"  I  have  wanted  to  be  free  all  these  years,"  she 
said.  "  All  these  years  when  you  would  not  let  me 
forget  Bernard  Battle — when  you  shut  me  up  and 
hid  me  away,  and  made  me  old  when  I  was  young. 
And  now — just  as  I  am  beginning  to  be  happy  with 
my  children — you  tell  me  that  I  must  go  back  to 
him  and  start  afresh." 

Her  voice  grated  upon  Eugenia's  ears,  and  she 
realised  more  acutely  than  her  pity  the  fact  that 
Lottie  was  common — hopelessly  common.  For  an 
instant  she  forgot  Bernard's  greater  transgressions 
in  the  wonder  that  a  Battle  should  have  married 
a  woman  who  did  not  know  how  to  behave  in  a 
crisis — who  could  even  chant  her  wrongs  from  the 
housetop.  At  the  moment  this  seemed  to  her  the 
weightier  share  of  the  family  remissness.  The  loy- 
alty of  the  Battle  wives  had  been  as  a  lasting 
memorial  to  the  Battle  breeding — which,  after  all, 
was  more  invincible  than  the  Battle  virtue. 

She  crossed  to  the  window  and  stood  looking  out 
upon  the  winter  sunshine  falling  on  the  gray  church 
across  the  way.  On  the  stone  steps  a  negro  nurse 
was  sitting,  drowsily  trundling  back  and  forth  before 
her  a  beruffled  baby  carriage.  Nearer  at  hand,  in 
the  yard  on  the  left  of  the  tesselated  entrance  below, 
a  pointed  magnolia  tree  shone  evergreen  beside  the 
naked  poplars,  and  a  bevy  of  sparrows  fluttered  in 
and  out  amid  the  sheltering  leaves. 

"  Oh,  you  will  never  understand."  wailed  Lottie. 
She  had  flung  herself  upon  the  couch  and  was  sob- 
bing weakly.  "  It  is  so  different  with  you  and 
Dudley." 

Eugenia  turned  and  came  back.     "  I  do  under- 


374  The  Voice  of  the  People 

stand,"  she  returned  gently,  and  before  Lottie  could 
raise  her  lowered  head  she  left  the  room. 

She  had  promised  Dudley  that  the  calls  should 
be  made,  and  she  put  on  her  visiting  gown  without 
a  thought  of  shirking  the  fulfilment  of  her  pledge. 
From  the  day  of  her  marriage  she  had  zealously 
accepted  the  obligations  forced  upon  her  by  Dud- 
ley's political  aspirations,  and  Airs.  Rann  became  to- 
day simply  a  heavier  responsibility  than  usual.  Her 
world  was  full  of  Mrs.  Ranns,  and  she  braved  them 
with  dauntless  spirits  and  triumphant  humour.  As 
she  buttoned  her  gloves  on  the  way  downstairs  she 
was  conscious  of  a  singularly  mild  recognition  of  the 
fact  that  the  world  might  have  been  the  gainer  had 
Mrs.  Rann  abided  unborn. 

But  the  fresh  air  restored  her  courage,  and  by  the 
time  she  sat  in  Mrs.  Rami's  drawing-room,  face  to 
face  with  her  hostess,  she  was  at  ease  with  herself 
and  her  surroundings.  She  gave  out  at  once  the 
peculiar  social  atmosphere  of  her  race ;  she  uttered 
her  gay  little  nothings  with  an  intimate  air;  she 
laughed  good-humouredly  at  Mrs.  Rann's  gossip, 
and  she  begged  to  see  photographs  of  Airs.  Rann's 
babies.  It  was  as  if  she  had  immediately  become 
the  confidential  adviser  of  Airs.  Rann's  domestic 
difficulties. 

Mrs.  Rann,  herself,  was  little  and  plain  and  obso- 
lete. She  appeared  to  have  been  left  behind  in  the 
sixties,  like  words  that  have  become  vulgar  from 
disuse.  She  wore  bracelets  on  her  wrists,  and  her 
accent  was  as  flat  as  her  ideas.  Before  the  war 
— and  even  long  after — nobody  had  heard  of  the 
Ranns ;  they  had  arrived  as  suddenly  as  the  electric 


The  Voice  of  the  People  375 

lights  or  the  trolley  cars.  When  Miss  Chris  had 
alluded  to  them  as  "  new  people,"  and  Juliet  Gait 
had  declared  that  she  "  did  not  call  there,"  Dudley 
had  thrown  out  an  uncertain  line  to  Eugenia. 
"  Rann  is  a  useful  man,  my  dear,"  he  had  said.  "  He 
may  be  of  great  help  to  me,"  and  the  next  day  Eu- 
genia had  left  her  card.  Where  Dudley's  ambitions 
led  she  cheerfully  followed. 

"  We  are  politicians,"  was  her  excuse  to  Juliet, 
"  and  we  can't  afford  to  be  exclusive.  Of  course, 
with  Emma  Carr  and  yourself  it  is  different.  You 
may  exclude  half  society  if  you  please,  and,  in  fact, 
you  do ;  but  Dudley  and  I  really  don't  mind.  He 
wants  something,  and  I,  you  know,  was  born  with- 
out the  instinct  of  class." 

So  she  sat  in  Mrs.  Rann's  drawing-room  and  re- 
ceived her  confidences,  while  Juliet  and  Emma  Carr 
were  gossiping  across  the  street. 

"  The  greatest  trouble  I  have  with  Mr.  Rann  when 
he  comes  to  town,"  said  Mrs.  Rann,  "  is  that  he  re- 
fuses to  wear  woollen  socks.  I  don't  know  whether 
Mr.  Webb  wears  woollen  socks  or  not." 

Eugenia  shook  her  head. 

"  I've  no  doubt  he  would  be  a  better  and  a  wiser 
man  if  he  did,"  she  responded. 

"  Then  he  doesn't  catch  cold  when  he  puts  on  thin 
ones  with  his  dress  suit.  Now  Mr.  Rann  says 
woollen  socks  don't  look  well  in  the  evening — and 
he  takes  cold  every  time  he  goes  out  at  night.  He 
won't  even  let  me  put  red  flannel  in  the  soles  of  his 
shoes." 

"  Then  he's  not  the  man  I  thought  him,"  said  Eu- 
genia as  she  rose.     "  Do  you  know,  the  baby  is  so 


376  The  Voice  of  the  People 

pretty  I  stopped  her  carriage.  If  she  were  mine  I 
shouldn't  let  her  grow  up." 

Mrs.  Rann  glowed  with  pride,  and  in  the  depths 
of  her  shallow  eyes  Eugenia  read  a  triumphant  com- 
passion. This  little  vulgar  countrywoman,  upon 
whom  she  looked  so  grandly  down,  was  pitying  her 
in  her  narrow  heart. 

She  flushed  and  turned  away. 

"  You  have  never  had  a  child  ?  "  asked  the  little 
common  voice. 

Eugenia  faced  her  coldly.  "  I  lost  one — a  week 
old,"  she  replied,  and  she  hated  herself  that  she  was 
proud  of  her  seven  days'  motherhood.  She  had 
mourned  the  loss,  but  she  had  never  vaunted  the 
possession  until  now. 

As  she  left  the  house  her  name  was  called  by 
Juliet  Gait  from  her  window  across  the  way.  "  Come 
over,  Eugie,"  she  cried.  "  We've  been  watching 
you,"  and  as  Eugenia  ascended  the  steps  the  door 
was  opened  and  she  was  clasped  in  Emma  Carr's 
arms.  "  We've  shut  our  eyes  and  ground  our  teeth 
and  put  ourselves  in  your  place,"  she  said.  "  Oh, 
Eugie,  she's  worse  than  the  dentist !  " 

"  I  went  to  the  dentist's  first,"  was  Eugenia's 
reply. 

She  followed  Miss  Carr  into  the  drawing-room 
and  sank  into  the  window-seat  beside  Juliet,  who 
was  bending  over  her  embroidery  frame.  Then 
she  laughed — a  full,  frank  laugh. 

"  You  dear  women,"  she  said,  "  if  you  knew  the 
lot  of  a  politician's  wife,  you'd — marry  a  footman." 

"  Provided  he  were  Dudley  Webb,"  returned 
Emma  Carr.     She  seized  Eugenia's  hand  and  they 


The  Voice  of  the  People  377 

smiled  at  each  other  in  demonstrative  intimacy. 
"  You  know,  of  course,  that  we  are  all  in  love  with 
your  husband — desperately,  darkly  in  love — and 
you  ought  to  be  gray  with  jealousy.  If  I  were 
married  to  the  handsomest  man  in  Virginia  I'd  get 
me  to  a  nunnery." 

"  That's  not  Eugie's  way,"  said  Juliet,  snapping 
off  her  silk.     "  If  she  went,  she'd  drag  him  after." 

"  Oh,  he's  just  Dudley,"  protested  Eugenia. 
"  I'd  as  soon  be  jealous  of  Aunt  Chris — and  he's 
waiting  at  home  this  instant  with  his  senators  come 
to  judgment  on  my  dinner.  If  I  were  free,  I'd  spend 
the  day  with  you.  Juliet,  but  I've  married  into 
servitude."      I ,,    ,    1    ,,  > 


IX 


When  Eugenia  went  upstairs  that  night  she  softly 
opened  Lottie's  door  and  glanced  into  the  room. 
By  the  sinking  firelight  she  saw  Lottie  lying  asleep, 
her  hand  upon  the  pillow  of  her  younger  child, 
who  slept  beside  her.  The  pretty,  nerveless  hand, 
even  in  sleep,  tremored  like  a  caress,  for  whatever 
Lottie's  wifely  failings,  as  a  mother  she  was  without 
reproach.  Lottie — vain,  hysterical,  bewailing  her 
wrongs — was  the  same  Lottie  now  resting  with  a 
protecting  arm  thrown  out — this  Eugenia  admitted 
thoughtfully  as  she  looked  into  the  darkened  room 
where  the  thin  blue  flame  cast  a  spectral  light  upon 
the  sleepers.  From  this  shallow  rooted  nature  had 
bloomed  the  maternal  ardour  of  the  Southern 
woman,  in  whom  motherhood  is  the  abiding  grace. 

Eugenia  closed  the  door  and  crossed  the  hall  to 
Miss  Chris,  who  was  reading  her  Bible  as  she 
seeded  raisins  into  a  small  yellow  bowl.  The  leaves 
of  the  Bible  were  held  open  by  her  spectacle  case 
which  she  had  placed  between  them;  for  while  her 
hands  were  busy  with  material  matters  her  placid 
eyes  followed  the  text. 

"  I  thought  I'd  get  these  done  to-night,"  she  re- 
marked as  Eugenia  entered.  "  I'm  going  to  make 
a  plum  pudding  for  Dudley  to-morrow.  Where  is 
he  now?  " 

"  A  political  barbecue,  I  believe,"  responded  Eu- 


The  Voice  of  the  People  379 

genia  indifferently  as  she  knotted  the  cord  of  her 
flannel  dressing-gown.  She  yawned  and  threw  her- 
self into  a  chair.  "  I  wonder  why  everybody  spoils 
Dudley  so,"  she  added.  "  Even  I  do  it.  I  am  sit- 
ting up  for  him  to-night  simply  because  I  know  he'll 
want  to  tell  me  about  it  all  when  he  comes  in." 

"  It's  a  good  habit  for  a  wife  to  cultivate,"  re- 
turned Miss  Chris,  shaking  the  raisins  together.  "  If 
my  poor  father  stayed  out  until  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning  he  found  my  mother  up  and  dressed  when 
he  came  in." 

"  I  should  say  it  was  '  poor '  grandmamma," 
commented  Eugenia  drily.  "  But  Dudley  won't 
find  me  after  midnight."  Then  she  regarded  Miss 
Chris  affectionately.  "  What  a  blessing  that  you 
didn't  marry,  Aunt  Chris,"  she  said.  "  You'd  have 
prepared  some  man  to  merit  damnation." 

"  My  dear  Eugie,"  protested  Miss  Chris,  half 
shocked,  half  flattered  at  the  picture.  "  But  you're 
a  good  wife,  all  the  same,  like  your  mother  before 
you.  The  only  fault  I  ever  saw  in  poor  Meely  was 
that  she  wouldn't  put  currants  in  her  fruit  cake. 

Tom  was  always  fond  of  currants "  in  a  moment 

she  abruptly  recalled  herself.  "  My  dear,  I  don't 
say  you  haven't  had  your  trials,"  she  went  on. 
"  Dudley  isn't  a  saint,  but  I  don't  believe  even  the 
Lord  expects  a  man  to  be  that.  It  doesn't  seem  to 
set  well  on  them." 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  blaming  Dudley,"  returned  Eu- 
genia as  leniently  as  Miss  Chris.  "  We  live  and  let 
live — only  our  tastes  are  different.  Why,  the  chief 
proof  of  his  affection  for  me  is  that  he  always  de- 
scribes to  me  the  object  of  his  admiration — which 


380  The  Voice  of  the  People 

means  that  his  eyes  stray,  but  his  heart  does  not, 
and  the  heart's  the  chief  thing,  after  all." 

"  I'm  glad  you  aren't  jealous,"  said  Miss  Chris. 
"  I  used  to  think  you  were — as  a  child." 

"  Oh,  I  was — as  a  child,"  replied  Eugenia.  Her 
kindly  face  clouded.  It  was  borne  in  upon  her 
with  a  twinge  of  conscience  that  the  absence  of  jeal- 
ousy which  had  become  the  safeguard  of  Dudley's 
peace  proved  her  own  lack  of  passion.  What  a  hell 
some  women — good  women — might  have  made  of 
Dudley's  life — that  genial  life  that  flowed  as 
smoothly  as  a  song.  In  the  flights  and  pauses  of  his 
temperament  what  discord  might  have  shocked  the 
decent  measure  of  their  marriage?  Persistent  pas- 
sion would  have  bored  him ;  exacting  love  would 
have  soured  the  charm  of  his  radiant  egotism.  I| 
\yasj2ecajisjij^e_w^^  ner 

love  hadwiselyjngj^d[out  to  him  only  sojnuch  or  so* 
litHeTjof  herself  as  he  desired — and  with  a  sudden 
arraignment  of  Fate  she  admitted  that  because  she 
had  failed  in  the  first  requirement  of  the  marriage 
sacrament,  she  had  made  that  sacrament  other  than 
a  mockery.  Out  of  her  own  unfulfilment  Dudley's 
happiness  was  fulfilled. 

"  Yes,  Dudley  suits  me,"  she  said  absently,  "  and, 
what's  the  main  thing,  I  suit  Dudley." 

"  Well,  well,  I'm  glad  of  it,"  returned  Miss  Chris, 
but  in  a  moment  Eugenia  was  kneeling  beside  her, 
her  hand  upon  the  open  Bible. 

"  Dear  Aunt  Chris,  you  haven't  told  me  all,"  she 
said. 

"  All  ?  "  Miss  Chris  wavered.  "  You  mean  about 
Bernard  ?  " 


The  Voice  of  the  People  381 

"  I  mean  about  the  governor."  She  closed  the 
Bible  and  pushed  it  from  her.  "  Do  you  think  he 
is  quite,  quite  happy  ?  " 

Miss  Chris  laughed  in  protest. 

"  Do  I  believe  him  to  be  pining  of  hopeless  love  ? 
No,  I  don't,"  she  retorted. 

"  Oh,  not  that !  "  exclaimed  Eugenia  impatiently. 
She  appeared  vaguely  to  resent  Miss  Chris's  assur- 
ance. She  was  feminine  enough  to  experience  an 
irrational  jealousy  at  the  idea  of  a  vacancy  which 
she  had  done  her  best  to  create.  It  destroyed  an 
example  of  the  permanence  of  love. 

"  I  don't  suppose  anybody  could  be  happy  on 
politics,"  observed  Miss  Chris.  "  It  doesn't  seem 
natural."  And  she  slowly  added :  "  I  wish  some 
good  woman  would  marry  him." 

"  I  don't !  "  said  Eugenia  sharply.  She  rose  with 
a  spring  from  the  rug,  and  left  Miss  Chris  to  her 
reflections  and  her  raisins.  In  her  own  room  she 
sat  down  before  the  fire  and  loosened  her  hair  from 
the  low  coil  on  her  neck.  She  drew  out  the  hair- 
pins one  by  one,  until  her  hands  were  full,  and  the 
thick  black  rope  fell  across  her  bosom.  Then  she 
tossed  the  pins  upon  her  bureau  and  shook  a  veil 
over  her  face  and  shoulders.  As  she  settled  herself 
into  her  chair  she  glanced  impatiently  at  the  clock. 
Dudley  was  late,  and  she  listened  for  his  footsteps 
with  the  composure  of  a  woman  from  whom  the 
flush  of  marriage  has  passed  away.  His  footsteps 
were  as  much  a  part  of  her  days  as  the  ticking  of  the 
clock  upon  the  mantel.  If  the  clock  were  to  stop 
she  would  miss  the  accustomed  sound,  but  so  long 
as  it  went  on  she  was  almost  unconscious  of  its  pres- 


382  The  Voice  of  the  People 

ence.  Her  affection  for  Dudley  had  grown  so  into 
her  nature  that  it  was  like  the  claim  of  kinship — 
quiet,  unimpassioned,  full  of  service — the  love  that 
is  the  end  of  many  happy  marriages,  the  beginning 
of  few. 

As  she  sat  there  she  fell  vaguely  to  wondering 
what  her  lot  would  have  been  had  her  pulses  flut- 
tered to  his  footsteps  as  they  came  and  went.  She 
would  have  known  remorseless  waitings  and  the 
long  agony  of  jealous  nights — all  the  passionate  self- 
torture  that  she  had  missed — that  she  had  missed, 
thank  God !  She  made  the  best  of  her  life  to-day, 
as  she  would  have  made  the  best  of  blows  and 
bruises.  It  was  the  old  buoyant  instinct  of  the  Bat- 
tle blood — the  fighting  of  Fate  on  its  ground  with 
its  own  weapons.  She  had  insisted  strenuously 
upon  her  own  happiness — and  she  had  found  it  not 
in  the  great  things  of  life,  but  in  the  little  ones.  She 
was  happy  because  happines_s  is  ours  injjie ^cradle 
or  not  at  all — because  it  is  of  the  blood  and  not  of 
the  environment. 

During  the  first  years  of  her  marriage  she  had 
intensely  sought  the  relief  of  outside  interests.  She 
had  worked  zealously  on  hospital  boards  and  had 
exhausted  herself  in  the  service  of  the  city  mission. 
Then  a  new  call  had  quivered  in  her  life,  and  she  had 
let  these  things  go.  With  the  passion  of  her  nature 
she  had  pledged  herself  to  motherhood,  and  that,  too, 
had  foiled  her — for  the  child  had  died.  Looking 
back  upon  the  years  she  saw  that  those  months  of 
tranquil  waiting  were  the  happiest  of  her  life — those 
monotonous  months  when  each  day  was  as  the  day 
before  it,  when  her  hands  were  busy  for  the  love  that 


The  Voice  of  the  People  383 

would  come  to  her,  and  her  heart  warmed  itself  be- 
fore the  future.  The  child  was  hers  for  a  single 
week,  and  afterwards  she  had  put  her  grief  away  and 
gone  back  to  the  old  beginning.  She  had  given 
herself  to  little  kindnesses  and  trivial  interests,  for 
the  fulfilment  of  her  nature  had  withered  in  the 
bud. 

The  key  turned  in  the  door  downstairs  and  in  a 
moment  she  heard  Dudley  in  the  hall.  As  her  door 
opened  she  looked  up  brightly.  "  Up,  old  girl  ?  " 
he  asked  cheerfully,  and  as  he  came  to  the  fire  he 
bent  to  kiss  her. 

"  Did  you  make  a  speech?  and  what  did  you 
say?"  she  inquired. 

"  Oh,  they  got  a  good  deal  out  of  me,"  he  re- 
sponded with  a  genial  recollection  which  he  pro- 
ceeded to  unfold.  His  eyes  shone  and  his  face  was 
flushed.  As  he  stood  on  the  hearth  rug  before  her 
she  admitted  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction  his  physical 
splendour.  The  glow  of  his  personality  warmed  her 
into  an  emotion  half  maternal.  She  regarded  him 
with  the  eyes  of  tolerant  affection. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  think  I  made  a  friend  of  Diggs,"  he 
was  adding  complacently  as  he  flecked  a  particle  of 
cigar  ash  from  his  coat.  "  He  got  off  a  capital  story, 
by  the  way.  I'd  give  it  to  you,  but  I'm  half  afraid 
— you're  so  squeamish." 

"  His  jokes  don't  amuse  me,"  returned  Eugenia 
indifferently.     "  Who  else  was  there  ?  " 

"  Well,  the  governor  was  very  much  there.  He 
did  some  stiff  talking.  I  say,  Eugie,  do  you  know, 
I  believe  he  used  to  have  a  pretty  strong  fancy  for 
you—didn't  he  ?  " 


384  The  Voice  of  the  People 

Eugenia  looked  at  him  with  a  laugh.  "  Oh,  a 
fancy  ?  "  she  repeated. 

She  moved  away,  gathering  her  hair  from  her 
shoulders ;  but  in  a  moment  she  came  back  again 
and  rubbed  her  cheek  against  Dudley's  arm  as  she 
used  to  rub  it  against  General  Battle's  old  linen 
sleeve.  "  Dudley,"  she  said  with  a  sudden  break, 
"  the  baby  would  have  been  ten  years  old  to-night — 
do  you  remember?  " 

Dudley  was  looking  into  the  fire ;  his  face  grew 
grave,  and  he  patted  Eugenia's  head.  "  You  don't 
say  so !     Poor  little  chap  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

They  were  both  silent.  Dudley's  eyes  were  still 
on  the  flame,  but  the  shadow  lifted  from  his  brow. 
Eugenia's  lips  quivered  and  grew  firm.  She  gently 
drew  herself  away  and  began  braiding  her  hair,  but 
her  hands  were  unsteady. 

In  a  moment  Dudley  spoke  again.  "  It  was  a 
great  pity  I  lost  that  governorship,"  he  said  ab- 
stractedly. 

A  week  after  this  Eugenia  went  with  Juliet  Gait 
to  the  Capitol  to  hear  a  speech  in  which  Dudley  was 
interested.  The  Senate  Chamber  was  crowded,  and 
as  the  atmosphere  grew  oppressive  while  Dudley's 
gentleman  held  the  floor,  she  rose  and  went  out  into 
the  lobby  where  a  noisy  circle  pulsed  round  Hou- 
don's  Washington.  She  had  spoken  to  several  ac- 
quaintances, and  her  hand  was  in  the  clasp  of  a 
house  member  from  her  old  county,  when  she 
started  at  the  sound  of  a  shrill  voice  rising  above  the 
persistent  hum  of  the  legislators  and  the  lobbyists. 

"  I'm  a-lookin'  for  the  governor,  Nick  Burr,"  it 
said. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  385 

"  I  didn't  know  the  governor  posed  as  a  cavalier," 
laughed  the  house  member,  and  as  a  wave  of  hu- 
mour lighted  the  faces  around  her,  Eugenia  turned 
to  find  Marthy  Burr  standing  in  the  doorway.  She 
wore  a  stiff  alpaca  dress,  and  beneath  the  green  veil 
above  her  bonnet  she  cast  alert,  nervous  glances 
from  side  to  side.  Her  hands  clutched,  in  a  death- 
like grip,  a  cotton  umbrella  and  a  small,  covered 
basket. 

Eugenia  hesitated  for  a  single  instant,  and  then 
took  a  step  forward  with  outstretched  hand,  a  kindly 
glow  in  her  face ;  but  as  she  did  so  the  crowd  parted 
and  Nicholas  Burr  reached  his  stepmother's  side. 

"  Why,  this  is  a  treat,  ma !  "  he  said  heartily,  and 
he  took  the  umbrella  and  the  basket  from  her  re- 
luctant hands,  despite  her  warning  whisper,  "  thar's 
new-laid  eggs  in  thar !  " 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Burr !  "  exclaimed  Eugenia.  She 
lifted  her  gaze  from  the  homely  figure  in  its  awk- 
ward finery,  to  the  man  who  stood  beside  her.  Then 
she  stooped  and  kissed  Marthy  Burr  on  the 
cheek. 

"  Do  let  her  come  home  with  me,"  she  said. 

Her  eyes  fell  and  a  wave  of  colour  beat  into  her 
face.  An  instant  before  she  had  felt  her  act  to  be 
entirely  admirable ;  now  it  flamed  before  her  in  a 
mental  revelation  that  she  was  a  sycophant  who 
sought  the  reward  of  an  assumed  virtue.  With  the 
reward  had  come  the  knowledge — ihe  had  found 
both  in  Nicholas's  eyes ;  and  as  she  felt  the  thrust  of 
self-abasement,  she  felt  also  that  for  the  sake  of  that 
look  she  would  have  kissed  a  dozen  Burrs  a  dozen 
times. 

25 


386  The  Voice  of  the   People 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  the  governor.  "  But 
you  know  I  have  an  empty  house." 

Then  he  put  his  arm  about  Marthy  Burr  and 
assisted  her  down  the  steps  to  the  walk  below.  She 
looked  about  her  with  half-frightened,  half-defiant 
eyes,  and  clung  grimly  to  his  powerful  figure. 

As  Eugenia  watched  them,  a  quick  remembrance 
shot  before  her.  She  saw  Nicholas  Burr  as  she  had 
seen  him  in  his  youth — ardent,  assured,  holding  out 
his  arms  to  the  future,  which  was  to  be  love,  love, 
love.  Now  the  future  had  become  the  present,  and 
the  one  affection  that  remained  to  him  was  that  of 
the  old,  illiterate  woman,  with  the  rasping  voice. 

/  He  had  lost  the  thing  he  had  lived  for — and  he  was 

I  happy. 


BOOK  V 
THE  HOUR  AND  THE  MAN 


BOOK  V 

THE   HOUR  AND  THE   MAN 

I 

On  one  of  the  closing  days  of  the  legislative  ses- 
sion, Ben  Gait  lounged  into  the  anteroom  of  the 
governor's  office  and  cornered  the  private  secretary. 
"  Look  here,  Dickson,  what's  the  latest  demonstra- 
tion of  Old  Nickism?  I  hear  he's  giving  Rann 
trouble  about  that  bill  of  his." 

Dickson  nodded  significantly  towards  the  closed 
door.  "  Rann's  with  him  now,"  he  replied;  "  they're 
having  it  hot  in  there.  Rann  may  bluster  till  he's 
blue,  but  he  won't  make  the  governor  give  an  inch. 
That  bill's  as  dead  as  a  door  nail.  The  governor's 
got  a  fit  of  duty  on." 

"  Or  his  everlasting  obstinacy,"  returned  Gait  ir- 
ritably. "  His  duty  does  more  harm  than  most 
men's  devilment — it  stands  like  a  stone  wall  between 
him  and  his  ambition.  Of  course,  that  bill  is  a  poli- 
tical swindle,  but  there  isn't  another  politician  in  the 
State  who  would  interfere  in  Rann's  little  game." 

"  Oh,  between  us,  I  think  Rann's  honest  enough. 
He  believes  he's  up  to  a  good  thing,  but  the  gover- 
nor disagrees  with  him — there's  where  the  row 
begins." 


390  The  Voice  of  the  People 

"  What  does  the  governor  say  about  it?  " 

"  Say?  "  laughed  Dickson.  "  Why,  I  asked  him 
if  he  would  approve  the  measure  and  he  said  '  No! ' 
That's  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  his  discourse 
— a  '  No  '  long  drawn  out." 

The  door  opened  abruptly,  and  Rann  put  out  his 
head.  "  Will  you  step  in  here,  Mr.  Gait?  "  he  asked, 
and  his  voice  was  husky  with  anger.  "  With  plea- 
sure, my  dear  Major,"  responded  Gait  easily,  as  he 
crossed  the  threshold  and  closed  the  door  after  him. 
"  I  am  always  at  your  service  as  a  peacemaker." 

The  governor  was  standing  before  his  desk,  his 
eyes  upon  Rann,  who  faced  him,  red  and  trembling. 
Gait  had  seen  Burr  wear  this  impassive  front  before, 
and  it  had  always  meant  trouble.  His  eyes  were 
opaque  and  leaden,  his  face  as  expressionless  as  a 
mask.  He  was  motionless  save  for  the  movement 
of  one  hand  that  drummed  upon  the  desk.  "  If  you 
possess  any  influence  with  the  governor,"  said  Rann 
to  Gait,  "  will  you  tell  him  that  his  course  is  ruinous 
— ruinous  to  imbecility?  If  he  thinks  I  am  going 
to  throw  away  a  winter's  work  on  that  bill  he's  mis- 
taken his  man.  It's  taken  me  the  whole  session  to 
get  that  measure  through  the  legislature,  and  I'm 
not  going  to  have  it  defeated  now  by  any  crack- 
brained  moralist.     He'll  sign  that  bill  or " 

Burr  spoke  at  last.  "  Am  I  the  governor  of  this 
State  or  are  you?  "  he  thundered.  His  face  did  not 
change,  but  his  powerful  voice  rang  to  the  full. 

Rann  gave  an  ugly  little  sneer,  his  cheek  purpling. 
"  I  may  not  be  governor,  but  I  made  you  so,"  he 
retorted. 

"  Your  mistake,  my  dear  Major,  was  that  you 


The  Voice  of  the  People  391 

neglected  to  create  him  in  your  own  likeness,"  put 
in  Gait  coolly. 

"  By  the  people's  will  I  am  governor,  and  gover- 
nor I'll  be,"  said  Nicholas  grimly;  "as  for  this  bill 
you  speak  of,  I  might  have  saved  you  the  trouble 
of  working  for  your  pitiable  majority.  Since  you 
have  seen  fit  to  deride  my  motive,  it  is  sufficient  for 
me  to  say  that  the  measure  will  not  become  a  law 
over  my  opposition,  and  I  shall  oppose  it  to  the 
death." 

Rann  was  shaking  on  his  short  legs  and  his  hands 
were  trembling.  "  So  you  defy  me,  do  you,  Gover- 
nor? "  he  demanded. 

"  Defy  you?  "  the  governor  laughed  shortly,  "  I 
don't  trouble  to  defy  you.  I  laugh  at  you — the 
whole  lot  of  you  who  come  to  cozen  me  with  party 
promises.  So  long  as  I  spoke  your  speech  and  did 
your  bidding  I  might  have  the  senatorship  for  the 
asking.  I  was  honest  Nick  Burr,  though  I  might 
belie  my  convictions  at  every  step.  So  long  as  I 
wore  the  collar  of  your  machine  upon  my  neck  my 
honesty  was  the  hall-mark  of  the  party.  Where  is 
my  honesty,  the  first  instant  that  I  dare  to  stand 
against  you?  Defy  you?  Pshaw!  You  aren't 
worth  defying!  " 

"  Hold  on!  "  said  Gait  hastily.  "  Nick,  for  God's 
sake,  leave  our  friend  alone.  You're  both  good  fel- 
lows— too  good  to  quarrel " 

"  Oh,  there's  no  use,"  protested  Rann,  wiping  his 
flaming  brow.  "  I've  offered  a  dozen  compromises 
— but  compromise  I  won't  without  that  bill.  Bear 
witness  that  I've  upheld  him  from  the  start.  I'd 
have  run  him  for  the  presidency  itself  if  I'd  had  the 


392  The  Voice  of  the  People 

power,  and  when  I  ask  a  little  friendly  return  he  talks 
about  his  damned  duty.  But  I  tell  you,  he's  signed 
his  own  warrant.  He's  as  dead  in  this  State  as  if 
his  grave  was  dug.  He's  held  his  last  office  in  the 
Democratic  Party." 

"  I  shall  certainly  not  owe  my  second  to  you,"  re- 
sponded the  governor;  then  he  looked  vacantly  be- 
fore him.  "  I  have  the  pleasure  to  wish  you  good 
morning,"  he  said. 

When  Rann  had  gone,  and  the  door  had  slammed 
after  him,  Gait  turned,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Shake!  "  he  exclaimed,  and  as  Nicholas  grasped 
his  hand,  added  lightly,  "  My  dear  friend,  you  may 
as  well  have  a  quiet  conscience,  since  you'll  never 
have  the  senatorship." 

Nicholas  drew  his  hand  away  impatiently.  "  I'm 
not  beaten  yet,"  he  said.  "  I'll  fight  and  I'll  win,  or 
my  name's  not  Burr!  Do  you  think  I'm  afraid  of 
a  sneak  like  that  ?  Why,  he  offered  me  the  senator- 
ship  as  coolly  as  if  he  had  it  in  his  pocket!  " 

Gait  laughed.  "  I'm  not  sure  he  hasn't;  at  any 
rate  he's  the  power  of  the  ring,  and  the  ring's  the 
power  of  the  party." 

"  Then  I'll  fight  the  ring,"  said  Nicholas,  "  and, 
if  need  be,  I'll  fight  the  party.  So  long  as  right  and 
the  people  are  with  me  the  party  may  go  hang." 

"  My  dear  old  Nick,  history  teaches  us  that  the 
^rty_Jiangs  the  people.  By  the  way,  you've  done 
Webb  a  good  turnTRann  is  going  to  fight  you  fair 
and  foul — mostly  foul." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  afraid  of  Rann,  or  of  Webb." 

"  Or  yet  of  the  devil!  "  added  Gait.  "  When  I 
come  to  think  of  it,  I  never  called  you  timid.     But 


The  Voice  of  the  People  393 

wait  a  few  days  and  Rann  will  have  this  little  passage 
reported  to  his  credit.  I'll  get  ahead  of  him  with 
the  story,  or  I'll  find  some  cocked-up  account  of  it 
circulating  in  the  lobby.  It's  easier  to  blacken  the 
best  man  than  to  whiten  the  worst.  Well,  I'm 
going.     Good  day !  " 

When  the  door  closed,  the  governor  crossed  to  the 
window  and  stood  looking  down  upon  the  gray 
drive  beneath  the  leafless  trees.  The  sun  was  ob- 
scured by  a  sinister  cloud  that  had  blotted  out  all 
the  fugitive  brightness  of  the  morning.  A  fine 
moisture  was  in  the  air,  and  the  atmosphere  hung 
heavily  down  the  naked  slopes,  where  the  grass  was 
colourless  and  dead.  Beyond  the  gates,  the  city  was 
lost  in  a  blurred  and  melancholy  distance,  from 
which  several  indistinct  church  spires  rose  and  sank 
in  a  sea  of  fog. 

But  blue  and  gray  were  as  one  to  Nicholas.  He 
was  not  exhilarated  by  sunshine  nor  was  he  de- 
pressed by  gloom  ;  only  the  inner  forces  of  his  nature 
had  power  to  quicken  or  control  his  moods.  His 
inspiration,  like  his  destiny,  lay  within,  and  so  long 
as  he  maintained  his  wonted  equilibrium  of  judg- 
ment and  desire  it  was,  perhaps,  impossible  that  an 
outside  assault  should  severely  shake  the  founda- 
tions of  his  life. 

Now,  while  the  glow  of  his  anger  still  lingered  in 
his  brain,  it  was  characteristic  of  the  man  that  he 
was  feeling  a  pity  for  Rann's  disappointment — for 
the  discomfiture  of  one  whose  methods  he  despised. 
In  Rann's  place,  he  felt  that  he  should  probably  have 
risen  to  the  charge  as  Rann  rose — implacable,  un- 
swerving ;  but  he  was  not   in   Rann's   place,  nor 


394  The  Voice  of  the  People 

could  he  be  so  long  as  personal  reward  was  less  to 
him  than  personal  honour.  Yes,  he  could  pity  Rann 
even  while  he  condemned  him.  For  an  instant — a 
single  instant — he  had  found  himself  shrinking  from 
the  combat,  and  in  the  shock  of  self-contempt  which 
followed  he  had  hurled  the  shock  of  his  resentment 
upon  the  tempter.  In  that  moment  of  weakness  it 
had  seemed  to  him  an  easy  thing  to  let  one's  self  go ; 
to  yield  to  a  friendly,  if  distrusted  force;  to  place 
gratified  ambition  above  the  sting  of  wounded 
scruples.  Was  he  infallible  that  he  should  make 
his  judgment  a  law,  or  without  reproach  that  he 
should  set  his  conscience  as  an  arbiter? 

Then  in  a  sudden  illumination  he  had  seen  the 
betrayal  of  his  sophistry,  and  he  had  stood  his 
ground — for  the  strong  man  is  not  he  who  is  im- 
pervious to  weaknesses,  but  he  who,  scorning  his 
failures,  towers  over  them.  He  had  felt  the  tempta- 
tion and  he  had  wavered,  but  not  for  long.  In  all 
his  periods  of  storm  and  stress  he  had  found  that 
his  nature  rebounded  in  the  end.  Disquietude 
might  waste  his  ardour ;  but  give  him  time  to  reor- 
ganise his  forces,  and  his  moral  energy  would  tri- 
umph at  the  last. 

As  he  looked  out  upon  the  great  bronze  Wash- 
ington against  the  sad-coloured  sky,  he  realised,  with 
a  pang  like  the  thrust  of  homesickness,  the  isolation 
in  which  he  stood.  An  instinctive  need  to  justify 
himself  had  risen  within  him,  and  with  it  awoke  the 
knowledge  that  beyond  that  uncertain  abstraction 
which  he  called  "  the  People,"  he  was  an  alien 
among  his  kind.  Gait  was  his  friend,  Tom  Bassett 
he  could  count  on,  a  score  of  others  would  stand  or 


The  Voice  of  the  People  395 

fall  in  his  service,  but  where  was  the  single  emotion 
which  bound  him  to  humanity?  Where  the  com- 
mon claim  of  kinship  which  belonged  to  Gait,  to 
Bassett,  and  to  all  mankind?  He  had  known  many 
men,  but  he  knew  not  one  who  was  not  drawn  by 
some  connecting  link  that  was  apart  from  patriot- 
ism, or  ambition,  or  desire.  Then  quickly  there 
came  to  him,  not  the  judge,  who  was  the  parent  of 
his  intellect,  but  the  withered  little  woman,  who  was 
not  even  the  mother  of  his  body.  The  only  happi- 
ness that  rose  and  set  in  him  was  that  pitiable  happi- 
ness that  could  not  think  his  thoughts  or  speak  his 
speech.  It  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  he  loved 
Marthy  Burr — his  kindness  had  been  wholly  com- 
passionate— it  was  the  knowledge  that  she  loved 
him  that  now  illuminated  her  image.  It  was  the 
old  blind  craving  born  again,  to  be  first  with  some- 
body—for there  are  moods  in  which  it  is  better  to 
be  adored  by  a  dog  than  to  adore  a  divinity.  He 
beheld  Eugenia's  womanhood  as  "  A  sword  afar 
off  "  ;  but  with  him  was  the  eternal  commonplace — 
his  stepmother's  sharp,  pained  eyes  and  shrivelled 
hands.  He  had  loved  Eugenia  until  there  was  noth- 
ing left;  now  he  wanted  to  be  loved,  if  by  a  dog. 

He  raised  his  head  and  smiled  upon  the  bronze 
Washington  and  the  sad-coloured  sky.  In  the  drive 
below  men  were  passing,  and  from  time  to  time  he 
recognised  a  figure.  He  saw  only  men  down  there, 
and  the  thought  came  to  him  that  his  was  a  man's 
world — only  in  the  outside  circle  might  he  catch  the 
flutter  of  a  woman's  dress.  He  turned  and  went 
back  to  his  desk  and  his  work. 

Two  days  later  the  papers   chronicled  without 


396  The  Voice  of  the  People 

comment  his  opposition  to  Rann's  bill.  He  was 
aware  that  Rann  possessed  no  uncertain  influence 
with  the  editors  of  the  "  Morning  Standard,"  and 
he  was  surprised  at  the  apparent  indifference  dis- 
played by  the  curt  announcement.  Did  Rann's  re- 
sentment hang  fire?  Or  was  the  press  prepared  to 
uphold  the  governor? 

On  the  morning  of  the  same  day  a  member  of  the 
legislature  with  whom  he  was  slightly  acquainted 
came  in  to  congratulate  him  upon  his  stand.  His 
name  was  Saunders,  and  he  was  a  man  of  some  abil- 
ity, whom  Nicholas  had  always  regarded  as  a  parti- 
san of  Webb. 

"  I've  been  fighting  that  bill  this  whole  session," 
he  said  emphatically,  "  and  I'd  given  up  all  hope  of 
defeating  it  when  you  had  the  pluck  to  knock  it  over. 
You've  made  enemies,  Governor,  but  you've  made 
friends,  and  I'm  one  of  them.  Give  me  the  man 
who  dares!  "  He  held  out  his  hand  as  he  rose,  and 
Nicholas  responded  with  a  hearty  grip.  Before  the 
legislature  closed  he  found  that  Saunders  spoke  the 
truth — he  had  made  friends  as  well  as  enemies.  The 
inborn  Anglo-Saxon  love  of  "  the  man  who  dares  " 
was  with  him — a  regard  for  daring  for  its  own  heroic 
sake.  The  hour  was  his,  and  he  braved  his  shifting 
popularity  as  he  would  brave  its  final  outcome. 


II 


One  afternoon  in  early  May,  Dudley  Webb  came 
out  upon  his  front  steps  and  paused  to  light  a  cigar 
before  descending  to  the  street.  A  spring  of  happy 
promise  was  unfolding,  for  overhead  the  poplars 
bloomed  against  an  enchanted  sky.  In  the  shadow 
of  the  church  across  the  way,  children  were  romp- 
ing, their  ecstatic  trebles  floating  like  bird-song  on 
the  air. 

With  the  cigar  between  his  teeth,  Dudley  heaved 
a  sudden  reminiscent  sigh — the  sigh  of  a  man  who 
possesses  an  excellent  digestion  and  a  complacent 
conscience.  Things  had  gone  well  with  him  of  late 
— the  fact  that  a  trivial  domestic  interest  darkened 
for  the  moment  his  serene  horizon  proved  it  to  be 
the  solitary  cloud  of  a  clear  day.  The  cloud  in  ques- 
tion had  gathered  in  the  shape  of  no  less  a  person 
than  Mrs.  Jane  Dudley  Webb.  She  had  been  on  a 
visit  to  Richmond,  and  he  had  seen  her  only  two 
hours  before  safely  started  on  her  homeward  jour- 
ney. The  truth  was  that  Mrs.  Webb  and  Eugenia 
had  asserted  for  the  past  two  days  an  implacable 
hostility,  and  Dudley's  genial  efforts  at  pacification 
had  resulted  merely  in  diverting  a  share  of  the  un- 
pleasantness upon  his  own  head.  It  was  a  lament- 
able fact  that  Eugenia,  who  was  amiable  to  the  point 
of  weakness  where  members  of  the  Battle  family 
were  concerned,  found  it  impossible  to  harmonise 
with  the  elder  Mrs.  Webb.      They  had  disagreed 


398  The  Voice  of  the   People 

upon  such  important  subjects  as  Miss  Chris's  house- 
keeping and  Dudley's  moral  welfare,  until  Eugenia, 
after  an  inglorious  defeat,  had  relapsed  into  silence 
— a  silence  broken  only  upon  Dudley's  return  from 
the  station,  when  she  had  unbosomed  herself  of  the 
declaration  that  she  -  couldn't  stand  his  mother, 
and  it  was  as  much  as  she  could  do  to  stand  him." 
Dudley  had  met  this  alarming  outburst  with  its 
logical  retort,  "  Hadn't  you  better  see  a  doctor, 
Eugie?"  whereupon  Eugenia  had  protested  that 
"  if  she  wasn't  fit  for  an  asylum,  he  needn't  thank 
Mrs.  Webb,"  and  had  dissolved  in  tears. 

At  the  moment  Dudley  had  experienced  a  warm 
recognition  of  his  generosity  in  refraining  from  the 
use  of  his  own  endurance  of  many  Battles,  as  an 
illustration  of  the  opposite  and  virtuous  course ;  but 
upon  later  reflection  he  frankly  admitted  that  the 
cases  were  by  no  means  similar.  It  had  not  occurred 
to  him,  he  recalled,  to  deny  that  Mrs.  Webb  was 
singularly  trying,  though  he  wondered,  half  resent- 
fully, why  Eugenia  could  not  be  brought  to  regard 
that  lady's  foibles  from  his  own  gently  humorous 
point  of  view.  He  was  not  in  the  least  disconcerted 
by  his  mother's  solicitude  as  to  the  condition  of  his 
soul,  or  by  the  fact  that  she  still  felt  constrained  to 
allude  to  the  governor  of  the  State  as  "  a  person  of 
low  antecedents."  Personally,  he  was  inclined  to 
admire — and  frankly  to  admit  it — the  ability  which 
had  brought  Burr  into  prominence  from  a  position 
of  evident  obscurity,  while  he  regarded  Mrs.  Webb's 
eccentric  attitude  as  a  kind  of  antedated  comedy. 
What  he  objected  to  was  his  wife's  inability  to  grasp 
the  keynote  of  the  situation. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  399 

It  was  pleasant  to  reflect,  however,  as  he  leisurely 
descended  the  steps,  that  he  had  brought  Eugenia 
round  by  less  heroic  measures  than  an  assault  upon 
her  family  altars.  He  was  glad  to  think  that  he 
had  given  her  a  cup  of  tea  instead. 

Crossing  slowly  to  Franklin  Street,  he  hesitated 
an  instant  on  the  corner,  and  turned  finally  in  the 
direction  of  his  office.  There  was  a  nearer  way 
down  town,  but  he  always  chose  this  one  because 
experience  had  taught  him  that  if  pretty  women 
were  abroad  here  they  would  be  found.  With  the 
same  instinct  of  enjoyment  he  might  have  gone  out 
of  his  way  daily  to  pass  the  window  of  a  florist. 

As  he  walked  on  in  the  spring  sunshine  he  held 
his  handsome  head  erect,  blowing  the  smoke  of  his 
cigar  in  the  scented  air.  He  moved  leisurely,  find- 
ing life  too  good  to  be  wasted  in  rushing.  The  soft 
atmosphere  ;  the  fragrance  of  his  fine  cigar  ;  the 
beauty  of  the  women  he  passed — these  sufficed  to 
bring  the  glow  of  animation  to  his  smooth,  full  face. 

Once  he  stopped  to  shake  hands  with  pretty 
Emma  Carr,  detaining  her  by  a  jest  and  a  laugh — 
and  again  he  paused  to  exchange  a  word  with  Juliet 
Gait,  who  was  at  her  window.  It  was  only  when  he 
turned  into  the  business  street  again  that  he  brought 
his  mind  to  bear  upon  less  engaging  subjects. 

Then  it  was  that  he  remembered  he  had  delivered 
the  evening  before  his  most  successful  oration.  He 
had  spoken  to  a  large  audience  upon  "  Personal 
Morality  in  Politics,"  and  he  had  received  an  appre- 
ciation that  was  prolonged  and  thundering.  When 
it  was  over  some  one  had  called  him  a  "  greater 
orator  than  Withers,"  to  add  quickly,  "  and  a  better 


4oo  The  Voice  of  the  People 

Democrat  than  Burr."  He  could  still  see  the  whim- 
sical smile  Burr  had  turned  upon  the  speaker,  and 
he  could  still  feel  his  own  sense  of  elation. 

Well,  as  for  that  matter,  he  was  a  better  Democrat 
than  Burr — if  to  be  a  better  Democrat  meant  to 
place  the  party  will  above  his  personal  opinion. 
After  all,  what  was  a  party  for  if  not  to  unite  indi- 
vidual effort  and  to  combine  individual  differences? 
If  organisation  was  not  worth  the  sacrifice  of  per- 
sonal prejudices  it  might  as  well  dissolve  before  the 
next  election  day.  It  was,  of  course,  a  pity  that  a 
man  like  Burr  should  dissent  from  the  views  of  im- 
portant politicians,  but  one  might  as  well  talk  of  a 
ship  without  officers  as  of  a  party  without  organised 
leaders.  It  was  a  pity  from  Burr's  point  of  view, 
he  was  willing  to  admit,  but  so  long  as  Burr  would 
make  trouble  it  was  just  as  well  that  the  ill  wind 
should  blow  his  own  side  good — he  was  honestly 
glad  that  it  had  blown  Rann's  influence  in  his  direc- 
tion. He  had  never  felt  more  hopeful  of  anything 
in  his  life  than  he  now  felt  of  the  senatorship.  In- 
deed, he  was  inclined  to  think  that  he  might  have 
something  very  like  a  "  walk  over." 

"  Hold  on,  Webb."  a  voice  called  behind  him,  and 
a  moment  later  he  was  joined  by  Diggs,  who  con- 
gratulated him  upon  his  speech  of  the  evening  be- 
fore. Webb  tossed  back  the  congratulations  with  a 
laugh.  "  Yes,  it's  a  popular  subject  just  now,"  he 
said.  "  Since  the  negroes  have  stopped  voting  in 
large  numbers  we're  even  going  in  for  honest 
elections." 

"  Well,  I  reckon  it's  as  well,"  admitted  Diggs. 
"  We  used  to  have  some  rampant  rascality  under 


The  Voice  of  the  People  401 

the  old  system,  I  dare  say;  it  took  clever  trickery  to 
bring  in  the  white  rule  sometimes.  We  have  a  large 
negro  majority  down  my  way,  that  obliged  us  to 
devise  original  methods  of  disposing  of  it.  It  was 
fighting  the  devil  with  fire,  I  suppose;  but  self-pres- 
ervation was  a  law  long  before  Universal  Suffrage 
was  heard  of.  At  any  rate,  I  had  my  hand  in  it  now 
and  then.  Once,  I  remember,  on  an  election  day 
when  every  darkey  in  the  neighbourhood  had  turned 
out  to  vote,  I  hit  on  the  idea  that  the  man  who  was 
to  carry  the  returns  across  the  river  should  pretend 
to  get  drunk  and  upset  the  boat.  It  was  a  pretty 
scheme  and  would  have  worked  all  right,  but,  will 
you  believe  it,  the  blamed  fool  got  drunk  in  earnest, 
and  when  the  boat  upset  he  was  caught  under  it  and 
drowned."  He  paused  an  instant  and  complacently 
added:  "  But  we  lost  those  returns,  all  the  same." 

Webb  threw  his  cigar  stump  in  the  gutter  and 
turned  to  Diggs  with  a  laugh.  "  That  reminds  me," 
he  began,  and  started  a  story  which  he  finished  on 
his  office  steps. 

When  he  went  home  some  hours  later  he  found 
that  Eugenia  had  regained  her  high  good-humour. 
She  was  sitting  before  the  fire  in  her  bedroom,  her 
hair  flowing  in  the  hands  of  Delphy,  who  had  moved 
up  from  Kingsborough,  and  was  doing  a  thriving 
trade  as  a  shampooer.  It  was  her  fortnightly  cus- 
tom to  pass  from  head  to  head  in  a  round  of  the 
Kingsborough  colony,  promoting  an  intimate  trend 
of  gossip  among  her  patrons. 

As  Dudley  entered,  she  was  seeking  to  induce 
Eugenia  to  consent  to  an  application  from  one  of 
the  many  bottles  she  carried  in  an  ancient  travelling 

26 


402  The  Voice  of  the  People 

bag,  which  had  long  since  descended  to  her  from 
General  Battle. 

"  Lawd,  Miss  Euginny,  dis  yer  ain'  gwineter  hu't 
you.  Hit  ain'  nuttin  but  ker'sene  oil  nohow.  Miss 
Sally  Burwell  des  let  me  souse  her  haid  in  it  de  udder 
day.     Hit'll  keep  you  f'om  gittin'  gray,  sho's  I  live." 

"  You  shan't  touch  me  with  it,  Delphy.  And  you 
ought  to  be  ashamed — I  haven't  a  gray  hair.  Have 
I,  Dudley?" 

Delphy  returned  the  bottle  with  a  sigh,  and  ap- 
plied herself  to  a  vigorous  brushing  of  Eugenia's 
hair. 

"  You  sho  is  filled  out  sence  I  see  you,  Marse 
Dudley,"  she  observed  at  last. 

"  Yes,  I'm  getting  fat,  Delphy,"  returned  Dudley 
with  a  laugh.  "  It's  old  age,  you  know.  It's  a  long 
time  since  the  days  when  you  spanked  me  with  a 
heavy  hand." 

"  Go  'way  f'om  yer,  Marse  Dudley ;  you  know  I 
ain'  never  spank  you  none  ter  hu't.  En  you  ain' 
er  bit  too  fat  ter  fit  yo'  skin,  nohow." 

Dudley  regarded  her  with  a  kindly,  patriarchal 
eye  as  he  straightened  himself  against  the  mantel. 
"  Any  news  from  down  your  way,  Delphy  ?  "  he 
inquired  with  interest.  "  What's  become  of  Moses  ? 
Moses  was  always  a  friend  of  mine.  He  used  to 
bring  me  a  pocketful  of  peanuts  from  every  picking 
he  went  to." 

Delphy  shook  her  head,  her  huge  lips  tightening. 
"  He's  down  wid  de  purple  headache,"  she  replied 
gloomily,  "  twel  he  can't  smell  de  diff'ence  between 
er  'possum  en  er  polecat.  Yes,  suh,  Mose  he's 
moughty  low  down,  en'  ter  dis  yer  day  he  ain'  never 


The  Voice  of  the  People  403 

got  over  Marse  Nick  Burr's  ous'in'  you  en  Miss 
Euginny  outer  de  cheer  you  all  oughter  had  down 
yonder  at  de  cap'tol.  I  ain'  got  much  use  fer  Marse 
Nick  myse'f.  He's  monst'ous  hard  on  po'  folks.  I 
ain'  been  able  to  rent  out  mo'n  oner  my  rooms  sence 
he's  been  down  dar.  Dat's  right,  Miss  Euginny, 
yo'  hyar's  des  es  dry  es  I  kin  git  it." 

When  Delphy  had  gone,  Dudley  leaned  down 
and  put  his  arm  about  Eugenia  as  he  kissed  her. 
"  All  right,  Eugie?  "  he  asked  cheerfully.  Eugenia 
returned  his  caress  with  a  startled  pleasure,  looking 
up  at  him  affectionately,  fascinated  by  the  glow 
which  hung  about  him. 

"  Oh,  I  really  don't  think  I  could  do  without  you, 
Dudley,"  she  said  quickly. 

"  Well,  it's  a  good  thing  you  don't  have  to,"  re- 
sponded Dudley  as  he  kissed  her  again. 

It  was  several  days  after  this  that  Eugenia  came  to 
him  one  evening  as  he  stood  before  the  fire  and 
laid  her  cool  cheek  against  his  arm. 

"  Oh,  Dudley,"  she  said  breathlessly,  "  I  am  so 
happy — so  absurdly  happy." 

She  raised  her  head  and  Dudley,  looking  at  her 
in  the  firelight,  found  her  more  beautiful  than  she 
had  been  even  in  the  radiant  days  of  her  girlhood. 
He  had  seen  that  high  resolve  in  her  face  but  once 
before,  and  he  grasped  the  meaning  now  as  then — 
it  was  the  dawn  of  motherhood  that  enveloped  her. 
She  had  heard  the  call  of  the  generations  in  the  end 
— the  appeal  of  the  race  that  moved  her  nature 
more  profoundly  than  did  the  erratic  ardours  of  the 
individual.  There  was  a  clear  light  in  her  eyes, 
and  her  features  had  taken  an  almost  marble-like 


404  The  Voice  of  the  People 

nobility.  The  look  in  her  face  reminded  him  of 
moments  in  the  old  days  at  Battle  Hall,  when  she 
had  wrapped  the  wandering  general  in  a  tenderness 
that  was  maternal.  With  a  sudden  penetrant  in- 
sight into  her  heart,  he  realised  that  her  natural 
emotions  were  her  nobler  ones — that  as  child  and 
mother  the  greatness  of  her  nature  assumed  its 
visible  form.  He  drew  her  closer,  the  best  in  him 
responding  to  the  mystery  he  beheld  dimly  in  her 
eyes.  For  ten  years  they  had  not  touched  natures 
so  nearly;  it  was  the  vital  breath  needed  to  vivify  a 
union  which  was  not  rooted  in  the  permanence  of 
an  enduring  passion. 

And  as  the  months  went  on  the  wonder  deepened 
in  Eugenia's  eyes.  The  old  restlessness  was  gone ; 
she  was  like  one  who,  having  looked  into  the  holy 
of  holies,  keeps  the  inward  memory  clear.  She  was 
in  the  supreme  mental  state — attained  only  by  relig- 
ious martyrs  or  maternal,  yet  childless,  women  long 
married — when  physical  pain  loses  its  relative  values 
before  the  exaltation  of  an  abiding  vision.  And, 
above  all,  she  was  what  each  woman  of  her  race 
been  before  her — a  mother  from  her  birth. 


h£ 


Ill 


From  the  day  of  the  child's  birth  it  did  not  leave 
Eugenia's  sight.  Her  eyes  followed  it  when  it  was 
carried  about  the  room,  and  she  watched  wistfully 
the  dressing  and  undressing  of  the  round  little  body. 
She  knew  each  separate  frock  that  she  had  made  be- 
fore its  coming,  and  each  day  she  called  for  a  dif- 
ferent and  a  daintier  one.  "  I  must  make  new  ones," 
she  said  at  last,  "  he  is  such  a  beauty!  "  And  she 
would  hold  out  her  arms  for  him,  half  dressed  as  he 
was,  and,  as  he  lay  beside  her,  fresh  and  cool  and 
fragrant  as  a  cowslip  ball,  she  would  cover  the  soft 
pink  flesh  with  passionate  kisses.  Her  motherhood 
was  an  obsession,  jealous,  intense,  unreasoning. 

They  had  named  him  after  the  general — Thomas 
Battle  Webb,  but  to  Eugenia  he  was  "  the  baby,"  the 
solitary  baby  in  a  universe  where  birth  is  as  com- 
mon as  death.  And,  indeed,  he  was  a  thing  of  joy — ■ 
the  nurse,  Dudley,  Miss  Chris,  all  admitted  it. 
There  was  never  so  round,  so  rosy,  so  altogether 
marvellous  a  baby,  and  never  one  that  laughed  so 
much  or  cried  so  little.  "  He  was  born  with  a  silver 
spoon  in  his  mouth,"  declared  Miss  Chris.  "  I  can 
see  his  luck  already  in  his  eyes." 

At  first  Eugenia  had  been  tortured  by  a  fear  that 
the  little  life  would  go  out  as  the  other  had  done ; 
but,  as  the  weeks  went  on  and  he  lived  and  fed  and 


4o6  The  Voice  of  the  People 

fattened,  her  fear  was  lost  in  the  wondering  rapture 
of  possession.  Nothing  so  perfectly  alive  could 
cease  to  be. 

When  she  was  well  again  she  dismissed  the  nurse 
and  took,  herself,  entire  charge  of  the  child.  "There 
are  no  mammies  these  days,"  she  had  said  in  reply 
to  Dudley's  remonstrances,  "  and  I  can't  trust  him 
with  one  of  the  new  negroes — I  really  can't.  Why, 
I  saw  one  slap  a  baby  once."  So  she  bathed  and 
dressed  him  in  the  mornings  and  rocked  him  to 
sleep  at  midday  and  at  dark,  and  in  the  brightness 
of  the  forenoon  gave  him  an  airing  on  the  piazza 
that  overlooked  the  back  garden.  From  the  time 
of  her  getting  up  to  her  lying  down  he  left  her  arms 
only  when  he  was  laid  asleep  in  the  little  crib  beside 
her  bed. 

But,  for  all  this,  he  was  a  healthy,  hearty  baby, 
with  a  round  bald  head,  great  blue  eyes  like  china 
marbles,  and  a  ridiculous  mouth  that  would  not  shut 
over  the  pink  gums  and  hide  the  dimples  at  the  cor- 
ners. He  did  not  cry  because,  as  yet,  he  hadn't  seen 
the  moon,  and  the  lamp  had  been  carefully  emptied 
and  given  to  him  as  soon  as  he  was  big  enough  to 
hold  out  his  hands.  Pins  had  not  stuck  him,  be- 
cause Eugenia  had  guarded  against  the  danger  by 
sewing  ribbons  on  his  tiny  innumerable  slips.  And 
he  was  as  amiable  as  his  elders  are  apt  to  be  so  long 
as  they  are  permitted  to  regard  the  visible  universe 
as  a  possible  plaything. 

At  this  time  it  was  Eugenia's  custom  to  hold  him 
on  her  lap  while  she  ate  her  meals,  or  to  leave  Miss 
Chris  in  charge  if  the  small  tyrant  chanced  to  be 
asleep.     Miss  Chris  had  become  a  willing  servitor; 


The  Voice  of  the  People  407 

but  she  occasionally  felt  it  to  be  her  duty  to  put  a 
modest  check  upon  Eugenia's  maternal  frenzy. 

"  My  dear,  there  were  ten  of  us,"  she  remarked 
one  day,  "  and  I  am  sure  we  never  required  as  much 
attention  as  this  one." 

"  And  nine  of  you  died,"  Eugenia  solemnly  re- 
torted. 

Miss  Chris  was  compelled  to  assent ;  but  she  im- 
mediately added:  "  Not  until  we  had  reached  middle 
age.  Belinda  died  youngest,  and  it  was  of  pneu- 
monia, at  the  age  of  forty-one.  You  don't  think 
neglect  during  her  infancy  had  anything  to  do  with 
it,  do  you?  Nobody  ever  accused  my  poor  dear 
mother  of  not  looking  after  her  children." 

But  Eugenia  stood  her  ground.  "  One  can  never 
tell,"  was  all  she  said,  though  a  moment  later  she 
wiped  her  eyes  and  sobbed :  "  Oh,  papa !  If  papa 
could  only  see  him!     He  would  be  so  proud." 

"  Of  course,  darling,"  said  Miss  Chris.  "  He  was 
always  fond  of  children.  I  remember  distinctly  the 
way  he  carried  on  when  his  first  child  was  born — 
but  he  lost  him  of  croup  before  he  was  a  month 
old." 

She  left  the  room  to  see  after  the  housekeeping, 
and  Eugenia  hugged  the  baby  to  her  bosom,  and 
cried  over  him  and  kissed  him,  and  thought  his  eyes 
were  like  her  father's — though,  for  that  matter,  the 
general's  were  gray  and  watery,  with  weak  red  lids 
that  blinked.  The  baby  gurgled  and  showed  his 
gums  still  more  and  clutched  the  lace  upon  his 
mother's  breast  until  it  hung  in  shreds.  It  was  a 
new  gown,  but  neither  Eugenia  nor  the  baby  cared 
for  that — if  he  had  wanted  to  pull  her  hair  out,  strand 


408  The  Voice  of  the  People 

by  strand,  she  would  have  submitted  rather  than 
have  brought  a  wrinkle  to  his  cloudless  brow. 

A  little  later  she  took  him  out  upon  the  sidewalk, 
after  swathing  him  from  head  to  foot  in  a  light-blue 
veil  that  floated  about  her  like  a  strip  of  sky.  It  was 
here  that  Juliet  Gait  found  her,  as  she  was  passing, 
and,  throwing  back  her  pretty  head,  she  laughed 
until  the  tears  came. 

"  O  Eugie,  Eugie,  if  you  had  six!  "  she  gasped. 

Eugenia  flinched  slightly  at  her  merriment.  "  But, 
Juliet,  I  can't  trust  him  with  a  nurse.  Why,  you 
told  me  only  the  other  day  that  your  faithful  old 
Fanny  called  Elizabeth  an  '  imp  of  Satan.' " 

Juliet  only  wrung  her  hands  and  laughed  the 
more.  "It's  too  funny,"  she  panted  at  last;  "but 
I'm  sure  if  Fanny  said  it  about  Elizabeth  it  was  true 
— she  never  tells  stories."  Then  she  rippled  off 
again.  "  Oh,  my  poor  Dudley!  How  does  he  en- 
dure it?  Why,  Ben  would  ship  the  babies  off  to 
boarding  school  if  I  attempted  this." 

"  Dudley  tries  to  be  good  about  it,"  replied  Euge- 
nia, "  but  he  hates  it  awfully." 

Juliet  went  by,  and  Eugenia  kept  up  her  slow 
promenade  until  Dudley  came  up  to  dinner.  Then 
she  followed  him  into  the  house  and  upstairs  to  her 
room,  where  he  turned  upon  her  reproachfully : 

"  I  say,  Eugie,  I  wish  you'd  stop  this  sort  of  thing. 
It  isn't  fair  to  me,  you  know." 

"How  absurd,  Dudley!" 

"  But  it  isn't.  People  will  begin  to  say  that  I'm 
bankrupt  or  a  beast.  If  you  will  go  parading  round 
like  this,  for  heaven's  sake  hire  a  servant  or  two  to 
follow  after;  it'll  look  more  decent." 


The  Voice  of  the  People  409 

Eugenia's  response  was  far  from  satisfactory,  and 
the  next  morning,  before  going  to  his  office,  he  drew 
Miss  Chris  aside  and  unburdened  himself  into  her 
sympathetic  ear.  "  You  don't  think  Eugie's  a — a 
— exactly  crazy,  do  you,  Aunt  Chris?"  he  wound 
up  with,  for  Miss  Chris  was  on  his  side,  and  he 
knew  it. 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  ask,  Dudley,  I  really  don't," 
was  her  comforting  rejoinder.  "  Why,  she  actually 
had  the  face  to  tell  me  yesterday  that  I'd  never  had 
any  children,  so  I  couldn't  advise  her.  It  is  provok- 
ing.    I  don't  pretend  to  deny  it." 

Dudley  took  up  his  hat  and  carefully  examined 
the  inside  lining.  "  Well,  I'll  settle  it,"  he  said  at 
last,  and  went  out. 

The  next  day,  when  Eugenia  went  upstairs  from 
dinner,  she  found  Delphy  in  a  nurse's  cap  and  apron, 
installed  in  a  low  chair  before  the  fire,  jolting  the 
baby  on  her  knees  with  a  peculiar  rhythmic  motion. 

Eugenia  fell  back,  regarding  her  with  blank 
amazement.  "  Why,  Delphy,  where  did  you  come 
from?"  she  exclaimed.  "I  didn't  know  you  were 
in  service.     Whom  are  you  nursing  for?  " 

Delphy  responded  with  a  passive  nod.  "  I'se  nus- 
sin'  for  Marse  Dudley,"  she  retorted. 

"  But  I  don't  want  a  nurse,  Delphy.  I  take  care 
of  the  baby  myself.     I  like  to  do  it." 

Delphy  kept  up  her  drowsy  jolting,  shaking  at  the 
same  time  an  unrelenting  head.  "  Go  'long  wid  you, 
honey,"  she  returned.  "  I  ain'  oner  yo'  new-come 
niggers.  Fse  done  riz  mo'  chillun  den  you'se  got 
teef  in  yo'  haid,  en  I  ain'  gwine  ter  have  Marse 
Dudley's  chile  projecked  wid  'fo'  my  eyes.     You 


4io  The  Voice  of  the  People 

ain'  no  mo'  fitten  ter  nuss  dis  chile  den  Marse  Dud- 
ley hisse'f  is." 

"  O  Delphy !  "  gasped  Eugenia  reproachfully. 
She  made  a  dart  at  the  baby,  but  he  raised  a  shrill 
protest,  which  caused  her  hopelessly  to  desist.  "  O 
Delphy,  you've  come  between  us!  "  she  cried. 

"  I  'low  ef  I  hadn't  you'd  'a'  run  plum  crazy,"  was 
Delphy's  justification.  "  Dis  yer  chile's  my  bizness, 
en  yourn  it's  down  yonder  in  de  parlour  wid  Marse 
Dudley." 

Eugenia  wavered  and  stood  irresolute.  Delphy's 
authority,  rooted  in  superior  knowledge,  appeared 
to  be  unshakable,  but  she  made  a  last  desperate  ef- 
fort. "  Suppose  he  should  get  sick  without  me, 
Delphy?  " 

Delphy  positively  snorted.  "  Ef  you  wanter  raise 
dis  yer  chile,  Miss  Euginny,"  she  replied,  "  you'd 
des  better  let  me  alont.  Hit's  a  won'er  you  ain' 
been  de  deaf  er  him  'fo'  I  got  yer  wid  yo'  sto'  phys- 
icks  en  yo'  real  doctahs  es  dunno  one  baby  f'om  anur 
when  dey  meet  'im  in  de  street.  I  reckon,  ef  he'd 
got  de  colic  you'd  have  kilt  'im  terreckly,  you  en  yo' 
sto'  physicks  en  yo'  real  doctahs!  Now,  you'd  des 
better  dress  yo'se'f  an'  go  down  yonder  ter  de 
parlour." 

But  as  she  finished  Dudley  strolled  in  and  stood 
beaming  down  upon  his  offspring  as  it  lay,  round 
and  pinkly  impressive,  in  Delphy's  lap.  "  Fine  boy, 
eh,  Delphy?  "  he  inquired  proudly. 

"  Dat  'tis,  suh,"  responded  Delphy  heartily,  "  an' 
he's  des  de  spit  er  you  dis  ve'y  minit." 

The  following  morning  Dudley  went  to  Washing- 
ton for  several  days,  and  Eugenia  was  left  with  Miss 


The  Voice  of  the  People  41 1 

Chris  and  the  child.  Lottie  and  the  little  girls  were 
with  Bernard,  who  was  dragging  to  a  tedious  end  in 
Florida,  where  he  had  been  ordered  as  a  last  re- 
source. Poor,  pretty,  ineffectual  Lottie  had  suc- 
cumbed to  the  unrelenting  pressure  of  her  duty.  She 
had  sacrificed  herself  from  sheer  lack  of  the  force 
necessary  to  withstand  fate. 

During  Dudley's  absence  Eugenia  gave  herself 
up  to  as  much  of  the  baby  as  Delphy  grudgingly  al- 
lowed her,  sewing,  in  the  long  intervals,  on  tiny  slips 
as  delicate  as  cobwebs.  Even  this  occupation  was 
not  wholly  a  peaceful  one.  "  Des  wait  twel  he  begin 
ter  crawl,  en'  den  whar'l  dose  spider  webs  be  ?  "  pro- 
pounded Delphy  in  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day. 
"  Dey'll  be  in  de  ash-ba'r'l  er  at  de  back  er  de  fire- 
place, en  dat's  whar  dey  b'long.  Marse  Dudley  ain' 
never  wo'  no  sech  trash  ner  is  you  yo'se'f." 

Eugenia  did  not  respond.  She  seated  herself  be- 
side the  window,  and  with  one  eye  on  her  child  and 
one  on  her  work  sewed  silently,  her  white  hands 
gleaming  amid  the  laces  in  her  lap.  The  training  I 
of  her  slave-holding  ancestors  was  strong  upon  her, 
and  she  regarded  Delphy's  liberty  of  speech  as  an 
inherent  right  of  her  position.  The  Battle  servants 
had  always  spoken  their  minds  to  their  mistresses 
in  a  manner  which  caused  them  to  become  hopeless 
failures  when  they  hired  themselves  into  strange 
families,  where  the  devotion  of  their  lives  could  not 
be  offered  in  extenuation  of  the  freedom  of  their 
tongues. 

So  when  Eugenia  spoke,  after  a  placid  pause,  it 
was  merely  to  suggest  that  the  baby's  head  was 
hanging  too  far  over  Delphy's  knee.     "  That  can't 


412  The  Voice  of  the  People 

be  healthful,  Delphy,"  she  said,  half  timidly. 
Delphy  grunted  and  adjusted  matters  with  a  protest. 
"  Hit's  de  way  yourn  done  hung  en  Miss  Meely's 
done  hung  befo'  you,"  she  muttered.  Eugenia 
turned  to  the  window  and  looked  out  upon  the  back 
yard,  where  the  horse-chestnut  tree  was  a  mass  of 
bloom,  delicate  as  a  cloud.  In  the  beds  below,  roses 
were  out  in  red  and  white,  and  against  the  gray  wall 
of  the  stable  at  the  end  of  the  brick  walk  purple  flags 
were  flaunting  in  the  shadow.  Across  the  city,  be- 
yond the  tin  roofs  and  the  chimney-pots,  the  sun 
was  going  down  in  a  mist  as  sheer  as  gauze,  and 
the  surrounding  atmosphere  was  charged  with 
opalescent  lights. 

Her  eyes  rested  upon  it  with  a  quick  sense  of  its 
beauty;  then  the  sunset  lost  itself  in  the  round  of 
her  thoughts.  She  had  missed  Dudley,  and  she 
was  glad  that  he  was  coming  home  to-night.  For 
the  first  time  during  the  fifteen  years  of  her  marriage 
she  experienced  a  vague  uneasiness  at  his  absence. 
A  year  ago  she  had  not  known  a  tremor  of  loneli- 
ness when  he  was  away — but  then  the  child  was 
unborn.  Now,  in  some  subtle  way,  the  child's 
existence  was  bound  and  rebound  in  Dudley's.  The 
two  stood  together  in  her  thoughts;  she  could  not 
separate  them — the  child  was  but  a  smaller,  a  closer, 
a  dearer  Dudley — a  Dudley  of  her  dreams  and 
visions,  the  ideal  ending  to  life's  realities. 

As  she  sat  beside  the  window,  her  eyes  wander- 
ing from  the  sunset  to  the  baby  asleep  in  Delphy's 
lap,  she  wondered  that  she  had  never  before  suffered 
this  incipient  thrill  of  nervous  fear.  Was  it  that  her 
affection  for  her  child  had  revivified  all  lesser  emo- 


The  Voice  of  the  People  413 

tions?  Or  was  it  that  with  supreme  love  came  the 
vague,  invincible  perception  of  supreme  loss?  Did 
great  happiness  bear  within  itself  the  visible  reflec- 
tion of  great  sorrow?  Her  life  before  this  had  been 
more  peaceful — it  had  been  also  less  complete. 
With  the  coming  of  her  heart's  desire  had  awak- 
ened her  heart's  inquietude — both  had  dawned  after 
years  of  restless  waiting  and  uncertain  wandering. 
It  was  borne  in  upon  her,  with  something  like  a 
pang,  that  the  fulness  of  life  had  blossomed  for  her 
only  when  her  first  youth  was  withered,  when  she 
had  long  since  relinquished  high  expectations  or 
keen  desire.  She  had  set  her  young  mind  and  her 
quick  passion  on  a  far-away  good,  she  had  shed 
vain  tears  over  the  lack  of  it;  yet,  in  the  end,  she 
found  compensation  where  she  would  least  have 
sought  it — in  the  things  which  made  up  her  destiny. 
She  had  learned  the  wisdom  of  acceptance,  and  Fate 
had  rewarded  her,  not  by  yielding  to  her  what  she 
had  called  her  heart's  necessity,  but  by  fitting  her 
heart  to  the  necessity  that  was  already  hers.  She  had 
not  known  the  fulfilment  of  her  young  ideals,  but 
she  was  content  at  last  with  an  existence  which  was 
a  personal  surrender  to  older  realities.  For  herself 
she  asked  now  only  busy  days  of  domestic  interests 
and  the  unbroken  serenity  of  middle  age — but,  de- 
spite herself,  another  life  was  before  her,  for  she 
lived  again  in  her  child. 

The  twilight  fell.  She  put  her  work  aside,  and, 
coming  to  the  hearth  rug,  took  the  baby  from 
Delphy's  arms.  He  was  in  his  night-dress,  and  his 
big  blue  eyes  were  drugged  with  sleep.  As  Eugenia 
took  him  he  gave  a  whimpering  cry  and  clutched 


414  The  Voice  of  the  People 

her  with  his  little  hands  before  he  nestled  into  the 
lace  at  her  bosom. 

Some  hours  later,  while  Eugenia  awaited  Dudley 
in  the  dining-room,  Miss  Chris  came  in  to  see  that 
his  late  supper  was  in  preparation.  "  The  train  is 
over-due,"  she  said,  with  a  glance  at  the  clock. 
"  He  will  be  hungry  when  he  gets  in.  He  always 
is." 

Eugenia  looked  up  anxiously.  "  I  am  beginning 
to  feel  alarmed,"  she  replied.  "  Can  anything  have 
happened,  do  you  think?     He  is  an  hour  late." 

Miss  Chris  shook  her  head  as  she  refilled  the  sugar- 
bowl.  "  Why,  he's  often  late,"  she  rejoined.  "  I 
never  knew  you  to  be  nervous  before.     What  is  it?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Eugenia.  She  rose  and 
stood  looking  at  the  clock,  her  brow  wrinkling.  "  If 
he  isn't  here  in  five  minutes  I'm  going  to  the  sta- 
tion," she  added,  and  went  upstairs  for  her  wraps. 

When  she  returned  Miss  Chris  resorted  to  argu- 
ment. "  Don't  be  absurd,  Eugie,"  she  urged. 
"  You  can't  go  alone.     It's  too  late  and  too  far." 

"  But  I  sent  for  a  carriage,"  replied  Eugenia  de- 
cisively. "  If  anything  happens  to  the  baby  come 
after  me,"  and  a  moment  later  she  rolled  away,  leav- 
ing Miss  Chris  transfixed  upon  the  doorstep. 

As  the  carriage  passed  along  the  lighted  streets 
she  smiled  at  the  recollection  of  the  face  Miss  Chris 
had  turned  upon  her.  Well,  she  was  absurd,  of 
course,  but  one  couldn't  go  through  life  being  rea- 
sonable. And  if  anything  were  to  happen  to  Dud- 
ley she  would  always  remember  that  she  had  refused 
to  go  to  walk  with  him  the  afternoon  before  he  went 
away,  because  the  baby  was  crying  for  the  flames 


The  Voice  of  the  People  4 1 5 

and  couldn't  be  left  with  Delphy.  Dudley  was  pro- 
voked about  it,  but  men  never  understood  these  mat- 
ters. He  had  even  gone  so  far  as  to  declare  that 
his  son  would  get  only  his  deserts  if  he  were  to  cry 
himself  hoarse;  and  she  had  felt  impelled  to  resent 
so  hard-hearted  an  utterance.  How  could  the  baby 
know  that  the  fire  was  the  only  thing  in  the  world 
he  couldn't  have  for  his  own? 

When  she  drew  up  at  the  station  the  train  was  just 
coming  in,  and  she  rushed  through  the  waiting- 
room  to  the  gate  from  which  the  passengers  were 
streaming.  As  she  reached  it  Dudley  came  through, 
talking  animatedly  to  the  man  who  walked  beside 

him.     "  That  was  the  very  point,  my  dear  sir " 

he  was  saying,  when  he  caught  sight  of  Eugenia, 
and  paused  abruptly,  domestic  affairs  asserting  their 
supremacy  in  his  mind.  "  Why,  Eugie !  "  he  gasped. 
"  What's  happened?  " 

Eugenia  seized  his  arm  impatiently.  "  Oh,  you 
were  so  late,  Dudley,"  she  cried,  half  angrily.  "  You 
made  me  miserable — it  wasn't  right  of  you!  " 

She  hesitated  an  instant  and,  looking  up,  found 
that  his  companion  was  Nicholas  Burr.  His  eyes 
were  upon  her,  and  he  lifted  his  hat  without  speak- 
ing, but  Dudley  at  once  turned  to  him. 

"You  are  old  friends  with  Mrs.  Webb,  Governor," 
he  said  lightly,  "  but  you  don't  know  the  ways  of  a 
woman  who  thinks  her  husband  may  lose  himself 
between  Washington  and  Richmond." 

Nicholas  met  the  impatient  flicker  in  Eugenia's 
eyes  and  laughed. 

"  Oh,  she  hardly  fancied  you  had  fallen  over- 
board," he  returned.     "  It's  too  difficult  in  these 


41 6  The  Voice  of  the   People 

days.  I  trust  you  have  had  no  great  anxiety,  Mrs. 
Webb." 

And  he  passed  on,  his  bag  in  his  hand. 

When  Dudley  and  Eugenia  were  in  the  carriage 
she  held  herself  erect  and  attacked  him  with  asperity. 
"  You  might  at  least  not  laugh  at  me,"  she  said. 

For  reply  he  smiled  and  flung  his  arm  about  her. 
"  My  darling  girl,  it's  one  of  the  things  that  make 
life  worth  living,"  he  retorted.  "  When  I  cease  to 
laugh  at  you  I'll  cease  to  love  you — and  that's  a 
long  way  off." 


IV 

The  campaign  which  would  decide  the  election  of 
a  United  States  Senator  was  warming  to  white  heat. 
On  the  last  day  of  October  Tom  Bassett,  dropping 
into  Gait's  office,  greeted  him  with  the  exclamation : 
"  So  you've  taken  to  the  stump !  " 

Gait  put  aside  his  papers  and  rose  with  a  laugh, 
holding  out  his  hand.  "  My  dear  fellow,  may  I  ask 
where  you  have  spent  the  last  fortnight  ?  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  my  oratorical  fame  has  just  penetrated  to 
your  retreat  ?  " 

Tom  sat  down,  and  taking  off  his  hat,  ran  his  hand 
through  his  hair  with  an  exhausted  gesture.  "  Oh, 
I've  been  West.  I  got  back  last  night,  and  I'm  off 
to  New  York  in  an  hour.  So  it's  a  fact  that  you've 
been  on  the  stump  ?  " 

"  It  is !  I  don't  mean  to  allow  the  Webb  men  to 
do  all  the  talking.  You  heard  about  my  joint  de- 
bate with  Diggs  at  Amelia  Court-house,  didn't 
you?  That,  my  dear  Tom,  was  the  culminating 
point  of  my  glorious  career.  I  squared  him  off  as 
nicely  as  you  please,  and  with  no  rough  edges 
either." 

But  Tom  refused  to  be  impressed.  "  Oh,  any- 
body could  do  up  Diggs,"  he  said.  "  I  hear,  how- 
ever, that  you  had  some  hot  words  between  you." 

Gait  shook  his  head.  "  Ah,  the  words  were  as 
nothing  to  the  drinks  that  followed,"  he  sighed. 
"  Diggs  mayn't  be  much  on  speeches,  but  he's  great 
27  417 


41 8  The  Voice  of  the  People 

on  cocktails.  It  was  a  glorious  day !  "  Then  he 
grew  serious.  "  When  he  was  fairly  wound  up  I 
got  a  good  deal  out  of  him,"  he  said.  "  We  came 
down  on  the  train  together,  and  I  found  out  that  he 
was  against  Burr  simply  because  the  Webb  men 
had  told  him  that  he  pledged  himself  to  them  when 
he  allowed  them  to  send  him  to  the  Legislature.  It's 
all  rot,  of  course ;  his  constituents  are  strong  for 
Burr,  but  he's  a  good  deal  of  a  fool,  and  Rann  has 
put  it  into  his  head  that  he  must  do  the  '  honest 
thing '  by  coming  out  for  Webb.  He  has  a  great 
idea  of  party  honour,  so  out  he's  come." 

"  Rann's  a  born  organiser,"  commented  Tom. 

"  Ah,  there's  where  we  aren't  even  with  him.  He 
and  his  assistants  have  been  drilling  their  forces  ever 
since  he  had  that  clash  with  Burr,  and  the  discipline's 
so  good  they  are  beginning  to  convince  the  people 
that  the  opinions  of  a  dozen  men  represent  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  party.  What  Burr  aims  at,  of  course, 
is  to  organise  the  mass  of  Democratic  voters  as 
effectively  as  Rann  has  organised  the  ring." 

"  That's  a  tough  job,"  said  Tom,  "  but  if  it's  to 
be  done,  Burr's  the  man  to  do  it.  As  it  is,  I  haven't 
a  doubt  that  the  majority  is  with  us." 

"  Well,  I  live  in  hope,"  returned  Gait  easily.  "  It 
seems  to  me  there's  a  clear  chance  of  our  having  a 
good  deal  over  half  the  votes  in  the  caucus.  Now, 
grant  that  there'll  be  a  hundred  and  twenty  regular 
Democratic  votes " 

"  Of  which  Webb  already  claims  sixty-five." 

"  Claims  !  "  growled  Gait.  "  He  may  claim  the 
whole  confounded  lot  if  he  wants  to.  The  question 
is — will  he  get  them  ?  " 


The  Voice  of  the  People  419 

"  He  will  if  Rann  can  manage  it.  It  isn't  mere 
party  bitterness  that  actuates  that  man — there's  a 
good  deal  of  personal  spite  mixed  with  it.  He  hates 
Burr." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say.  But  he  overreached  himself 
when  he  tried  to  get  control  of  the  committee.  They 
decided  in  favour  of  Saunders  in  the  last  Southside 
contest,  and  Saunders  is  pledged  to  Burr." 

Tom  drew  out  his  watch  and  moved  towards  the 
door,  but  having  reached  it,  he  swung  round  with 
a  question :  "  Seen  Webb  since  your  debate?  "  he 
inquired. 

Gait  nodded.  "  I  had  a  chat  with  him  in  the 
lobby  at  the  '  Royal '  last  night,  and  I  must  admit 
that,  so  far  as  Webb's  concerned,  this  campaign  is 
a  particularly  decent  one.  He  can't  help  being  a 
gentleman  any  more  than  he  can  help  being  a 
demagogue.     Both  instincts  are  in  the  blood." 

"  Yes,  I  rather  think  you're  right.  Well,  good- 
bye.    I'll  see  you  Tuesday." 

He  ran  downstairs,  breaking  into  a  whistle  on  the 
way,  and  Gait,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  took  up 
his  hat  and  followed  him.  He  had  an  appointment 
with  Burr's  campaign  manager,  who  had  his  head- 
quarters at  the  Royal  Hotel. 

It  was  there  that  Gait  found  him,  holding  a 
jubilant  gathering  in  his  rooms.  He  was  absolutely 
sanguine  of  success,  and  when  Gait  left  an  hour 
later,  he  sought  to  impart  to  him  his  emphatic  con- 
fidence. "  My  dear  sir,  I  can  conclusively  prove  to 
you  that  we  shall  win,"  he  said,  one  eye  on  Gait  and 
one  on  a  reporter  who  had  just  entered.  "  I  can 
prove  it  to  you  in  figures — and  figures  never  lie. 


420  The  Voice  of  the  People 

There  is  not  the  faintest  doubt  that  Burr  will  have 
seventy  votes  by  the  meeting  of  the  caucus." 

"  Glad  to  hear  it,"  was  Gait's  response ;  but  in 
passing  through  the  lobby  on  his  way  out  he  en- 
countered an  equal  assurance  in  the  opposite  camp. 
Rann,  who  was  the  centre  of  a  small  group,  broke 
away  and  came  towards  him. 

"  I  suppose  the  governor  has  reconciled  himself 
to  defeat,  eh,  Mr.  Gait  ?  " 

Gait  shook  his  head  with  a  laugh.  "  Defeat ! 
Why,  Major,  we're  just  beginning  to  enjoy  our 
triumph.  Burr  has  his  seventy  votes  in  his  hand 
and  he  keeps  it  closed." 

Rann  flushed  angrily,  his  mouth  twitching.  "  If 
you  will  come  this  way,  sir,  I  can  prove  to  you  on 
paper — on  paper,  sir — that  Webb  has  his  majority 
as  plain  as  if  the  caucus  was  over.  Seventy  votes! 
Why,  bless  my  soul,  he  must  have  counted  in  every 
Republican  and  Independent  that  will  be  sent  up. 
Seventy  votes !  I  tell  you  he  won't  have  forty — 
not  forty,  sir !  " 

"  Ah,  he  laughs  best  that  laughs  last,  my  dear 
Major." 

And  he  left  the  hotel,  walking  rapidly  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Capitol.  Once  or  twice  he  stopped  to 
speak  to  an  acquaintance  who  wanted  his  opinion 
of  Burr's  chances,  and  to  such  inquiries  his  response 
was  invariably  an  expression  of  perfect  conviction. 
But  when  alone  his  uncertainty  appeared — and  he 
acknowledged  to  himself  that  he  was  afraid  of 
Rann's  last  card.  What  it  was  he  did  not  know, 
but  he  knew  that  when  the  time  came  it  would  be 
well  played.      Bassett  was  right — it  was  not  party 


The  Voice  of  the  People  421 

bitterness  that  moved  Rami,  it  was  personal 
hatred. 

The  square  was  flooded  with  sunshine,  and  down 
the  green  slopes  gray  squirrels  were  feeding  from 
the  hands  of  children.  Overhead  the  elms  were  rus- 
set from  a  sharp  frost,  and  the  golden  leaves  of  the 
sycamores  shone  against  the  leprous  whiteness  of 
the  branches. 

Near  a  fountain  he  came  upon  his  own  small 
daughter  building  huts  of  pebbles.  As  she  saw  him 
she  gave  a  shrill  scream  and  caught  his  knees  in  a 
tight  embrace.  He  raised  her  in  his  arms  for  a  kiss, 
and  then  spoke  cordially  to  the  old  negro  janitor 
of  the  Capitol,  who  was  watching  him.  "  Is  that 
you,  Carter  ?     Good-morning !  " 

"  Well,  I  declar,  boss,  I  ain'  seen  you  fur  a  mont' 
er  Sundays." 

"  You  must  have  been  looking  at  the  clouds, 
Carter." 

"  Naw,  suh,  Fse  been  lookin'  right  out  yer,  an'  I 
ain'  seen  you.     Is  you  gwine  ter  'lect  de  gov'nor  ?  " 

Gait  was  holding  his  daughter  high  enough  to 
reach  the  branches  of  an  elm.  "  I'm  trying  to, 
Carter,"  he  returned  good-humouredly,  "  but  I  can't 
do  it  by  myself.     Won't  you  lend  a  hand  ?  " 

"  I'll  len'  'em  bofe,  if  you  want  'em,  boss.  I'se 
been  stedyin'  'bout  dis  bizness,  an'  I'se  got  a  plan 
all  laid  out  in  my  haid.  Dey's  a  lot  er  coloured  folks 
in  dis  State,  suh." 

"  That's  so,  man." 

"An'  dey's  all  got  a  vote  des  de  same  es  de  white  ?" 

Gait  laughed.     "  Sure's  you  live,"  he  replied. 

"  Well,  I'se  gwine  ter  git  my  friend  Bob  Viars  ter 


422  The  Voice  of  the  People 

git  up  er  meetin'  er  all  de  coloured  folks  roun'  in 
Cumberland  County, an'  I'se  gwine  ter  put  on  de  bes' 
I'se  got  an'  git  up  on  de  platform  an'  Bob's  gwine 
tell  'em  I'se  de  janitor  er  de  Capitol  dat  knows  all 
de  ways  de  laws  are  made — an'  when  Bob  says  dat, 
I'se  gwine  ter  bow  an'  flirt  my  hank'chif." 

Gait  nodded.     "  Oh,  I  see,"  he  said. 

"  Den  I'se  gwine  say  I'se  come  ter  tell  'em  ter 
'lect  de  gov'nor  'case  he's  de  bes'  man  in  de  State 
an'  de  greates'  gent-man  dey's  ever  lay  eyes  on — 
an'  I'se  gwine  flirt  my  hank'chif  some  mo'." 

"What  else?  "said  Gait. 

"  I'se  gwine  tell  'em  I  kin  prove  de  gov'nor's  de 
bes'  man  in  de  State  by  'splainin'  er  de  tarif — dat  I 
kin  prove  it  by  'splainin'  er  de  tarif  so  dey'll  unner- 
stan'  it  ev'y  word — an'  when  I  flirt  my  hank'chif  dat 
time,  Bob's  gwine  call  out '  Yo'  time's  up,  boss  ! '  an' 
I'se  gwine  answer  back,  '  Naw  'taint,  Bob,  des 
lemme  'splain  de  tarif.  I'se  got  de  'splanification 
er  de  tarif  right  on  de  tip  er  my  tongue,'  an'  Bob's 
gwine  heller  out,  'Not  anudder word, boss,  not  anud- 
der  word ! '  an'  he  gwine  shuffle  me  right  spang  out." 

Gait  put  down  his  daughter  and  shook  Carter's 
hand.  "  If  you  ever  get  out  of  a  job,  my  man,"  he 
said,  "  go  into  politics.  Is  the  governor  in  his 
office?" 

"  I'se  des  dis  minit  seen  him  come  out  fer  dinner." 

"  All  right,  I'll  find  him,"  and  he  went  on  to  the 
governor's  house. 

Nicholas  was  in  his  library,  a  law-book  open  be- 
fore him.  When  he  saw  Gait  he  turned  from  his 
desk  and  motioned  to  a  chair  beside  him.  "  Come 
in,  Ben,  and  sit  down.     I'm  glad  to  see  you." 


The  Voice  of  the  People  423 

Gait  threw  himself  into  the  chair.  "  I've  just  seen 
Ryan,"  he  said,  "  and  I  never  met  a  more  sanguine 
man.     He  doesn't  give  Webb  a  chance." 

"  Ah,  is  that  so  ?  "  asked  the  governor ;  his  tone 
was  almost  indifferent,  but  in  a  moment  he  leaned 
forward  and  spoke  rapidly : 

"  I  fear  there's  trouble  in  Kingsborough,  Ban. 
They've  brought  a  negro  there  to  the  gaol  from 
Hagersville,  where  there  were  threats  of  a  lynch- 
ing." 

"  The  devil !  Well,  you  aren't  afraid  that  Kings- 
borough  will  turn  lawless?  My  dear  friend,  there 
isn't  enough  vitality  down  there  to  make  one  first- 
class  savage." 

Nicholas  fell  back  again,  his  vivid  hair  drawing 
the  superb  outline  of  his  head  on  the  worn  leather 
against  which  he  leaned. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  afraid  of  Kingsborough,"  he  re- 
turned, "  but  Hagersville  is  only  three  miles  distant, 
and  the  country  people  are  much  wrought  up.  God 
knows  they  have  reason  to  be." 

"  Ah,  the  usual  thing." 

"  I  don't  know  the  details — but  there  is  sufficient 
evidence  against  the  man,  they  say,  to  hang  him 
twenty  times.  He's  as  dead  as  if  the  noose  had 
left  his  neck — but  he  must  die  by  law.  There  hasn't 
been  a  lynching  in  the  State  since  I've  been  in 
office." 

He  spoke  quietly,  but  Gait  saw  the  anxiety  in  his 
face  and  met  it  bravely. 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear  Nick,  don't  let  your  hobby 
run  away  with  you.  If  there  had  been  any  danger 
they'd  have  got  the  wretch  away.     By  the  bye,  Tom 


424  The  Voice  of  the  People 

Bassett  has  gone  to  New  York.  I  saw  him  this 
morning." 

"  Yes,  he  dropped  in  last  night.  You  haven't  seen 
this,  I  dare  say — it's  a  copy  of  Diggs's  speech  at 
Danville.  So  they  have  fallen  on  my  private  life  at 
last." 

He  handed  Gait  a  typewritten  sheet,  watching  him 
closely  as  he  read  it.  "  This  looks  as  if  they  feared 
me,  doesn't  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

Gait's  reply  was  an  oath  of  sudden  anger.  "  This 
is  Rann !  "  he  cried.  "  I  see  his  mark !  "  A  flush 
of  red  rose  to  his  face  and  his  voice  came  again 
in  a  long-drawn  whistle  of  helpless  rage.  "  The 
scoundrel!"  he  said  sharply.  "He's  raked  up 
that  old  Kingsborough  scandal  of  Bernard  Battle's 
and  made  you  the  man.  Oh,  the  sneaking  scoun- 
drel! " 

His  passion  appeared  in  quick  contrast  to  the 
other's  composure.  He  was  resenting  the  slander 
with  a  violence  that  he  would  not  have  wasted  on  it 
had  it  touched  himself — for  the  fame  of  his  friend 
was  a  cause  for  which  his  easy-going  nature  would 
spring  at  once  into  arms. 

Burr  came  over  to  him  and  laid  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder.  "  When  you  come  to  think  of  it,  Ben," 
he  said,  "  it's  no  great  matter." 

"  Then  what  steps  have  you  taken  about  it  ?  " 

Nicholas's  arm  fell  to  his  side.  "  I  have  done 
nothing.     What's  the  use  ?  " 

Gait  strode  to  the  window  and  back  again  to  the 
fireplace.  His  eyes  were  blazing.  "  The  use  ? 
Why,  man,  use  or  no  use,  I'll  send  the  last  one  of 
them  to  hell,  but  they'll  stop  it !     It's  Rann — Rann 


The  Voice  of  the  People  425 

from  the  beginning.  I'd  take  my  oath  on  it — 
but  I'm  his  match,  and  he'll  find  it  out.  I'll  have 
Diggs  retract  this  lie  by  six  o'clock  this  evening  or 
I'll " 

He  checked  himself  abruptly.  "  How  long  have 
you  had  this  ?  " 

"  A  half-hour.  The  speech  goes  in  the  evening 
papers." 

"  A  half-hour !  And  you  sit  here  snivelling  about 
your  lynching.  Why,  what  are  the  necks  of  ten 
such  devils  worth  to  your  good  name?  When  I 
come  to  think  of  it,  I'd  like  to  lend  a  hand  at  a 
lynching  myself.     If  I  had  Rann  here " 

The  governor  laughed  dryly.  "  To  tell  the  truth, 
my  dear  fellow,  I  don't  take  it  seriously.  The  peo- 
ple know  me." 

Gait  uttered  an  angry  exclamation  and  flung  out 
his  hand.  "  Oh,  give  over,  Nick,"  he  implored. 
"  Don't  drive  me  to  frenzy !  I  can't  stand  much 
more." 

He  took  up  a  sheet  of  paper  and  wrote  several 
lines  in  pencil.  "  After  all,  I've  been  thinking  to 
some  purpose,"  he  said.  "  Judge  Bassett  is  the  man 
we  need.  I'll  telegraph  to  him  from  your  office, 
and  I'll  have  his  reply  scattered  broadcast.  If  it 
riddles  Webb  like  shot,  I'll  have  it  out." 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  Webb,"  said  Nicholas.  He  was 
looking  into  the  fire,  but  as  the  door  closed  behind 
Gait  he  turned  and  seated  himself  at  his  desk.  The 
law-book  he  had  been  reading  lay  to  one  side,  and 
he  opened  it  and  followed  up  the  question  that  per- 
plexed him.  His  face  was  grave,  but  his  eyes  were 
shot  with  light.     When  Gait  came  back  he  entered 


426  The  Voice  of  the  People 

slowly  and  hesitated  an  instant  before  speaking, 
then  he  said : 

"  There's  bad  news,  Nick.  The  judge  has  had  a 
stroke  of  paralysis.  He  is  now  unconscious.  Tom 
can't  be  reached,  and  you " 

Nicholas  took  out  his  watch.  "  I  have  fifteen 
minutes  in  which  to  make  that  train,"  was  his 
answer.  "  Will  you  tell  Dickson  to  repeat  all  mes- 
sages ?  "  Then,  as  Gait  followed  him  into  the  hall, 
he  looked  back  and  spoke  again.  "  Until  to- 
morrow," he  said,  and  went  out. 

Gait  delivered  the  message  to  Dickson  and  walked 
uptown  to  Webb's  house,  where  he  expected  to  find 
him.  He  had  not  lunched,  and  he  remembered 
suddenly  that  Nicholas  had  also  gone  hungry;  but 
the  thought  brought  a  smile  as  he  rang  Webb's  bell. 
"  Oh,  for  once  in  a  lifetime  a  man  may  be  heroic," 
he  said.  Then  he  entered  the  house  and  found,  not 
Dudley,  but  Eugenia. 

At  the  sound  of  his  name  she  had  risen  and  come 
swiftly  forward  with  outstretched  hand.  Her  face 
was  white  and  her  eyes  heavy  with  anxiety,  but  he 
felt  then,  as  always,  the  calm  nobility  of  her  carriage. 
In  the  added  fulness  of  her  figure  her  beauty 
showed  majestic. 

He  took  her  hand,  holding  it  warmly  in  his  own. 
"  My  dear  Eugenia,  if  you  are  in  trouble,  remember 
that  I  am  an  ignoble  edition  of  Juliet." 

"  Oh,  I  want  you,  not  Juliet,"  she  said.  "  I  have 
sent  for  Dudley,  but  he  has  not  come — I  took  the 
paper  at  the  door  by  chance — and  I  find  that  Colonel 
Diggs  has  brought  up  that  old  dead  lie  about  the 
governor.    He  dares  to  say  that  the  people  of  Kings- 


The  Voice  of  the  People  427 

borough  believe  it — the  coward!  They  never  be- 
lieved it — it  is  false — as  false  as  the  lie  itself.  Oh, 
if  I  were  a  man  I  would  kill  him  for  it,  but  I  am  a 
woman,  and  you " 

"  Kill  him !  "  He  laughed  harshly.  "  We  don't 
kill  men  who  blacken  our  friend's  honour ;  we  wait 
till  they  attack  our  own  lives — that's  our  code  for 
you.  If  it  were  otherwise,  I  should  act  upon  it  with 
pleasure.  But  I  came  to  see  Webb  about  this  thing. 
Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  is  coming." 

She  sat  down,  keeping  her  excited  eyes  upon  him. 
"  It  was  Bernard,  my  own  brother,"  she  said  pas- 
sionately. "  You  know  this,  and  the  world  must 
know  it.  The  world  shall  know  it  if  I  have  to  utter 
it  from  the  housetops.  Oh,  I  have  sinned  enough 
in  ignorance ;  now  I  will  speak." 

She  bit  her  lips  to  keep  back  the  quick  tears,  tap- 
ping her  foot  upon  the  floor.  The  red  was  in  her 
cheeks  and  her  eyes  were  as  black  as  night.  Her 
bosom  quivered  from  the  lash  of  her  scorn. 

"  But  you  must  keep  out  of  it,  my  dear  Eugie. 
Dudley  and  I  will  manage  it.  We'll  see  Diggs  and 
get  a  retraction  from  him — that's  sensible  and  sim- 
ple. There's  no  scandal  the  better  for  dragging  a 
woman  into  it." 

She  stopped  him  fiercely.  "  Then  I  give  you  fair 
warning.  If  you  do  not  stop  it,  I  shall.  Ah,  here's 
Dudley ! " 

She  met  him  as  he  entered  the  room,  clasping  her 
hands  upon  his  arm.  "  Dudley,  have  you  seen  it — 
this  falsehood  ?  " 

He  let  her  hands  fall  from  his  arm  and  drew  her 


428  The  Voice  of  the  People 

with  him  to  the  fireside.  "  Yes ;  I  have  seen  it,"  he 
answered,  and  as  he  shook  hands  heartily  with  Gait 
he  made  a  casual  remark  about  the  weather. 

"  Oh,  Dudley,  what  does  the  weather  matter  ?  " 
cried  Eugenia.  "  No,  don't  sit  down.  You  are  to 
go  at  once  to  Colonel  Diggs  and  tell  him  everything 
— and  not  spare  any  one — and  you  may  tell  him  also 
that — I  despise  him  !  " 

He  smiled  at  her  vehemence — it  was  so  unlike 
Eugenia.  "  I  didn't  know  you  took  so  much  inter- 
est in  these  things,"  he  said  lightly.  "  I  thought 
the  baby  had  cured  you." 

But  she  caught  his  hand  and  held  it  in  her  own. 
"  Don't,  Dudley,"  she  implored.  "  You  know  what 
it  means  to  me.     You  know  all." 

His  face  softened  as  he  met  her  eyes ;  but  instead 
of  replying  to  her  appeal  he  turned  with  a  question 
to  Gait.  "  Can  I  do  any  good  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  am 
willing,  of  course,  to  do  what  I  can." 

"  I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  see  Diggs,"  said  Gait 
quietly.  "  We  shall  endeavour  to  keep  his  speech 
out  of  the  morning  papers,  but  it  has  already  ap- 
peared in  the  evening  issue.  You  might  secure  a 
card  from  him  retracting  his  statements.  I  hardly 
think  he  knew  them  to  be  false." 

"  I'll  go  at  once,"  replied  Dudley.  He  went  into 
the  hall  and  took  up  his  hat,  but  as  Gait  opened 
the  door  he  lingered  an  instant  and  looked  at  his 
wife.  She  came  to  him,  her  eyes  shining,  and  in  a 
flash  he  realised  that  to  Eugenia  it  was  a  question 
of  his  own  honour  as  well  as  of  the  governor's. 
With  a  smile  he  lifted  her  chin  and  met  her  gaze. 
"  Are  you  satisfied,  my  lady?  "  he  asked;  but  before 


The  Voice  of  the  People  429 

she  could  respond  he  had  joined  Gait  upon  the  pave- 
ment. 

There  he  paused  to  light  a  cigar,  while  Gait  hesi- 
tated and  looked  at  his  watch.  "  I  suppose  I  may 
leave  it  in  your  hands,"  suggested  the  older  man. 
"  Diggs  isn't  on  the  best  of  terms  with  me,  you 
know." 

Dudley  took  the  cigar  from  his  mouth  and  threw 
the  match  over  the  railing  into  the  grass.  "  Oh,  I'll 
do  my  best,"  he  answered  readily,  "  and  I'll  see  that 
the  statements  are  delivered  to  the  newspapers  at 
once.  I  am  as  much  interested  in  it  as  you  are. 
It  was  a  dirty  piece  of  work."  And  leaving  Gait,  he 
quickened  his  pace  as  he  crossed  the  street. 

Diggs  was  at  his  hotel  and  somewhat  relieved  at 
the  sudden  turn  of  affairs.  "  Honestly,  I  hated  it," 
he  frankly  admitted.  "  It's  the  kind  of  job  I'd  like 
to  wash  my  hands  of.  But  Major  Rann  took  oath 
on  the  truth  of  the  story,  and  he  convinced  me  that  I 
owed  it  to  the  community  to  expose  Burr's  char- 
acter. I  don't  know  why  I  believed  it,  except  that 
it  never  occurs  to  one  to  doubt  evil.  However,  I'm 
glad  you  called.  I  assure  you  I'll  take  more  pleas- 
ure in  retracting  the  statements  than  I  did  in  mak- 
ing them." 

He  wrote  the  notes  and  gave  them  into  Dudley's 
hands.  "  If  they  don't  get  in  to-morrow's  issue, 
they  must  wait  over  till  election  day.  It's  a  pity  this 
is  Saturday — but  you'll  have  them  in,  I  dare  say." 

"  Yes ;  I'll  take  them  down,"  said  Dudley.  He 
descended  in  the  elevator,  walking  rapidly  when  he 
reached  the  pavement.  Diggs's  parting  words  came 
back  to  him  and  he  repeated  them  as  he  went.    To- 


430  The  Voice  of  the  People 

morrow's  was  the  last  paper  before  election  day. 
If  the  speech  were  reported  in  the  morning  issue  and 
Burr's  friends  made  no  denial,  there  would  be,  as 
far  as  the  country  voters  were  concerned,  a  silence 
of  two  days.  The  contest  was  not  yet  decided,  this 
he  knew — it  would  be  a  close  one,  and  a  straw's 
weight  might  turn  the  scales  of  public  favour.  Rann 
realised  this  too,  for  he  did  not  fling  slime  at  men  for 
nothing — there  was  a  serious  purpose  underneath 
the  last  act  of  his  play.  He  was  doing  it  for  the 
sake  of  those  Democrats  whose  constituents  were 
divided  against  themselves,  and  he  was  trusting  to 
himself  to  hold  the  votes  that  came  his  way  when  the 
cloud  should  have  passed  from  Burr  again.  It  was 
all  so  evident  that  Dudley  held  his  breath  for  one 
brief  instant.  The  whole  scheme  lay  bare  before 
him — he  had  but  to  drop  these  letters  into  the  near- 
est box,  and  Rann's  purpose  would  be  fulfilled.  In 
the  howl  of  reprobation  that  followed  the  hounding 
of  Burr  his  own  hour  would  come.  And  granted 
that  the  governor  was  cleared  before  the  meeting  of 
the  caucus — well,  men  are  easier  to  keep  than  to 
win — and  he  might  not  be  cleared  after  all. 

A  clock  near  at  hand  struck  the  hour.  He  raised 
his  head  and  saw  the  "  Standard  "  office  across  the 
street — and  the  temptation  passed  as  swiftly  as  it 
had  come.  The  instinct  of  generations  was  stronger 
than  the  appeal  of  the  moment — he  might  sin  a  great 
sin,  but  he  could  never  commit  a  meanness. 

With  sudden  energy  he  crossed  the  street  and  ran 
up  the  stairs. 


V 


Again  he  was  returning  to  Kingsborough.  The 
familiar  landscape  rushed  by  him  on  either  side — 
green  meadow  and  russet  woodland,  gray  swamp 
and  dwarfed  brown  hill,  unploughed  common  and 
sun-ripened  field  of  corn.  It  was  like  the  remem- 
bered features  of  a  friend,  when  the  change  that 
startles  the  unaccustomed  eye  seems  to  exist  less  in 
the  well-known  face  than  in  the  image  we  have  car- 
ried in  our  thoughts. 

It  was  all  there  as  it  had  been  in  his  youth — the 
same  and  yet  not  the  same.  The  old  fields  were 
tilled,  the  old  lands  ran  waste  in  broomsedge,  but 
he  himself  had  left  his  boyhood  far  behind — it  was 
his  own  vision  that  was  altered,  not  the  face  of  na- 
ture. The  commons  were  not  so  wide  as  he  had 
thought  them,  the  hills  not  so  high,  the  hollows  not 
so  deep — even  the  blue  horizon  had  drawn  a  closer 
circle. 

A  man  on  his  way  to  the  water-cooler  stopped 
abruptly  at  his  side.     "  Well,  I  declar,  if  'tain't  the 


governor 


Nicholas  looked  up,  and  recognising  Jerry  Pol- 
lard, shook  his  outstretched  hand.  "  When  did  you 
leave  Kingsborough?"  he  inquired. 

"  Oh,  I  jest  ran  up  this  morning  to  lay  in  a  stock 
of  winter  goods.  Trade's  thriving  this  year,  and 
you  have  to  hustle  if  you  want  to  keep  up  with  the 


43 2  The  Voice  of  the  People 

tastes  of  yo'  customers.  Times  have  changed 
since  I  had  you  in  my  sto'." 

"  I  dare  say.  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  are 
doing  well.  Was  the  judge  taken  ill  before  you  left 
Kingsborough?  " 

"  The  judge?  Is  he  sick?  I  ain't  heard  nothin' 
'bout  it.  It  wa'n't  more'n  a  week  ago  that  I  told 
him  he  was  lookin'  as  young  as  he  did  befo'  the  war. 
It  ain't  often  a  man  can  keep  his  youth  like  that — 
but  his  Caesar  is  just  such  another.  Caesar  was  an 
old  man  as  far  back  as  I  remember,  and,  bless  you, 
he's  spryer  than  I  am  this  minute.  He'll  live  to  be 
a  hundred  and  die  of  an  accident." 

"  That's  good,"  said  the  governor  with  rising  in- 
terest. "  Kingsborough 's  a  fine  place  to  grow  old 
in.     Did  you  bring  any  news  up  with  you?  " 

"  Well,  I  reckon  not.  Things  were  pretty  lively 
down  there  last  night,  but  they'd  quieted  down  this 
morning.  They  brought  a  man  over  from  Hagers- 
ville,  you  know,  and  befo'  I  shut  up  sto'  last  evening 
Jim  Brown  came  to  town,  talkin'  mighty  big  'bout 
stringin'  up  the  fellow.  Jim  always  did  talk,  though, 
so  nobody  thought  much  of  it.  He  likes  to  get  his 
mouth  in,  but  he's  right  particular  'bout  his  hand. 
The  sheriff  said  he  warn't  lookin'  for  trouble." 

"  I'm  glad  it's  over,"  said  the  governor.  The 
train  was  nearing  Kingsborough,  and  as  it  stopped 
he  rose  and  followed  Jerry  Pollard  to  the  sta- 
tion. 

There  was  no  one  he  knew  in  sight,  and,  with  his 
bag  in  his  hand,  he  walked  rapidly  to  the  judge's 
house.  His  anxiety  had  caused  him  to  quicken  his 
pace,  but  when  he  had  opened  the  gate  and  ascended 


The  Voice  of  the  People  433 

the  steps  he  hesitated  before  entering  the  hall, and  his 
breath  came  shortly.  Until  that  instant  he  had  not 
realised  the  strength  of  the  tie  that  bound  him  to 
the  judge. 

The  hall  was  dim  and  cool,  as  it  had  been  that  May- 
afternoon  when  his  feet  had  left  tracks  of  dust  on 
the  shining  floor.  Straight  ahead  he  saw  the  gar- 
den, lying  graceless  and  deserted,  with  the  un- 
kemptness  of  extreme  old  age.  A  sharp  breeze 
blew  from  door  to  door,  and  the  dried  grasses  on 
the  wall  stirred  with  a  sound  like  that  of  the  wind 
among  a  bed  of  rushes. 

He  mounted  the  stairs  slowly,  the  weight  of  his 
tread  creaking  the  polished  wood.  Before  the 
threshold  of  the  judge's  room  again  he  hesitated,  his 
hand  upraised.  The  house  was  so  still  that  it 
seemed  to  be  untenanted,  and  he  shivered  suddenly, 
as  if  the  wind  that  rustled  the  dried  grasses  were  a 
ghostly  footstep.  Then,  as  he  glanced  back  down 
the  wide  old  stairway,  his  own  childhood  looked 
up  at  him — an  alien  figure,  half  frightened  by  the 
silence. 

As  he  stood  there  the  door  opened  noiselessly, 
and  the  doctor  came  out,  peering  with  shortsighted 
eyes  over  his  lowered  glasses.  When  he  ran  against 
Nicholas  he  coughed  uncertainly  and  drew  back. 
"  Well,  well,  if  it  isn't  the  governor !  "  he  said.  "  We 
have  been  looking  for  Tom — but  our  friend  the 
judge  is  better — much  better.  I  tell  him  he'll  live 
yet  to  see  us  buried." 

A  load  passed  suddenly  from  Nicholas's  mind. 
The  ravaged  face  of  the  old  doctor — with  its 
wrinkled  forehead  and  its  almost  invisible  eyes — be- 
28 


434  The  Voice  of  the  People 

came  at  once  the  mask  of  a  good  angel.  He  grasped 
the  outstretched  hand  and  crossed  the  threshold. 

The  judge  was  lying  among  the  pillows  of  his 
bed,  his  eyes  closed,  his  great  head  motionless. 
There  was  a  bowl  of  yellow  chrysanthemums  on  a 
table  beside  him,  and  near  it  Mrs.  Burwell  was 
measuring  dark  drops  into  a  wineglass.  She  looked 
up  with  a  smile  of  welcome  that  cast  a  cheerful  light 
about  the  room.  Her  smile  and  the  colour  of  the 
chrysanthemums  were  in  Nicholas's  eyes  as  he  went 
to  the  bed  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  still  fingers 
that  clasped  the  counterpane. 

The  judge  looked  at  him  with  a  wavering  recog- 
nition. "  Ah,  it  is  you,  Tom,"  he  said,  and  there 
was  a  yearning  in  his  voice  that  fell  like  a  gulf  be- 
tween him  and  the  man  who  was  not  his  son.  At 
the  moment  it  came  to  Nicholas  with  a  great  bitter- 
ness that  his  share  of  the  judge's  heart  was  the  share 
of  an  outsider — the  crumbs  that  fall  to  the  beggar 
that  waits  beside  the  gate.  When  the  soul  has  en- 
tered the  depths  and  looks  back  again  it  is  the  face 
of  its  own  kindred  that  it  craves — the  responsive 
throbbing  of  its  own  blood  in  another's  veins.  This 
was  Tom's  place,  not  his. 

He  leaned  nearer,  speaking  in  an  expressionless 
voice.     "  It's  I,  sir — Nicholas — Nicholas  Burr." 

"  Yes,  Nicholas,"  repeated  the  judge  doubtfully; 
"  yes,  I  remember,  what  does  he  want?  Amos 
Burr's  son — we  must  give  him  a  chance." 

For  a  moment  he  wandered  on;  then  his  memory 
returned  in  uncertain  pauses.  He  looked  again  at 
the  younger  man,  his  sight  grown  stronger.  "  Why, 
Nicholas,  my  dear  boy,  this  is  good  of  you,"  he  ex- 


The  Voice  of  the  People  435 

.  claimed.  "  I  had  a  fall — a  slight  fall  of  no  conse- 
quence. I  shall  be  all  right  if  Caesar  will  let  me  fast 
a  while.  Caesar's  getting  old,  I  fear,  he  moves  so 
slowly." 

He  was  silent,  and  Nicholas,  sitting  beside  the 
bed,  kept  his  eyes  on  the  delicate  features  that  were 
the  lingering  survival  of  a  lost  type.  The  splendid 
breadth  of  the  brow,  the  classic  nose,  the  firm,  thin 
lips,  and  the  shaven  chin — these  were  all  downstairs 
on  faded  canvases,  magnificent  over  lace  ruffles,  or 
severe  above  folded  stocks.  Over  the  pillows  the 
chrysanthemums  shed  a  golden  light  that  mingled 
in  his  mind  with  the  warm  brightness  of  Mrs.  Bur- 
well's  smile — giving  the  room  the  festive  glimmer 
of  an  autumn  garden. 

A  little  later  Caesar  shuffled  forward,  the  wine- 
glass in  his  hand.  The  judge  turned  towards  him. 
"  Is  that  you,  Caesar?  "  he  asked. 

The  old  negro  hurried  to  the  bedside.  "  Here  I 
is,  Marse  George;  I'se  right  yer." 

The  judge  laughed  softly.  "  I  wouldn't  take  five 
thousand  dollars  for  you,  Caesar,"  he  said.  "  Tom 
Battle  offered  me  one  thousand  for  you,  and  I  told 
him  I  wouldn't  take  five.  You  are  worth  it,  Caesar 
— every  cent  of  it — but  there's  no  man  alive  shall 
own  you.  You're  free,  Caesar — do  you  hear,  you're 
free!" 

*  "  Thanky,  Marse  George,"  said  Caesar.  He  passed 
his  arm  under  the  judge's  head  and  raised  him  as 
he  would  a  child.  As  the  glass  touched  his  lips  the 
judge  spoke  in  a  clear  voice.  "  To  the  ladies !  "  he 
cried. 

"  He  is  regaining  the  use  of  his  limbs,"  whispered 


436  The  Voice  of  the  People 

Mrs.  Burwell  softly.  "  He  will  be  well  again,"  and 
Nicholas  left  the  room  and  went  downstairs.  At 
the  door  he  gave  his  instructions  to  a  woman  ser- 
vant. "  I  shall  return  to  spend  the  night,"  he  said. 
"  You  will  see  that  my  room  is  ready.  Yes,  I'll  be 
back  to  supper."  He  had  had  no  dinner,  but  at 
the  moment  this  was  forgotten.  In  the  relief  that 
had  come  to  him  he  wanted  solitude  and  the  breadth 
of  the  open  fields.  He  was  going  over  the  old 
ground  again — to  breathe  the  air  and  feel  the  dust 
of  the  Old  Stage  Road. 

He  passed  the  naked  walls  of  the  church  and  fol- 
lowed the  wide  white  street  to  the  college  gate. 
Then,  turning,  he  faced  the  way  to  his  father's  farm 
and  the  distant  pines  emblazoned  on  the  west. 

A  clear  gold  light  flooded  the  landscape,  warming 
the  pale  dust  of  the  deserted  road.  The  air  was  keen 
with  the  autumn  tang,  and  as  he  walked  the  quick 
blood  leaped  to  his  cheeks.  He  was  no  longer  con- 
scious of  his  forty  years — his  boyhood  was  with  him, 
and  middle  age  was  a  dream,  or  less  than  a  dream. 

In  the  branch  road  a  fall  of  tawny  leaves  hid  the 
ruts  of  wheels,  and  the  sun,  striking  the  ground  like 
a  golden  lance,  sent  out  sharp,  fiery  sparks  as  from 
a  mine  of  light.     Overhead  the  red  trees  rustled. 

It  was  here  that  Eugenia  had  ridden  beside  him 
in  the  early  morning — here  he  had  seen  her  face 
against  the  enkindled  branches — and  here  he  had 
placed  the  scarlet  gum  leaves  in  her  horse's  bridle. 
The  breeze  in  the  wood  came  to  him  like  the  echo  of 
her  laugh,  faded  as  the  memory  of  his  past  passion. 
Well,  he  had  more  than  most  men,  for  he  had  the 
ghost  of  a  laugh  and  the  shadow  of  love. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  437 

Passing  his  father's  house,  he  went  on  beyond  the 
fallen  shanty  of  Uncle  Ish  into  the  twilight  of  the 
cedars.  At  the  end  of  the  avenue  he  saw  the  rows 
of  box — twisted  and  tall  with  age — leading  to  the 
empty  house,  where  the  stone  steps  were  wreathed 
in  vines.  Did  Eugenia  ever  come  back,  he  won- 
dered, or  was  the  house  to  crumble  as  Miss  Chris's 
rockery  had  done?  On  the  porch  he  saw  the  marks 
made  by  the  general's  chair,  which  had  been  re- 
moved, and  on  one  of  the  long  green  benches  there 
was  an  E  cut  in  a  childish  hand.  At  a  window  above 
— Eugenia's  window — a  shutter  hung  back  upon  its 
hinges,  and  between  the  muslin  curtains  it  seemed 
to  him  that  a  face  looked  out  and  smiled — not  the 
face  of  Eugenia,  but  a  ghost  again,  the  ghost  of  his 
old  romance. 

He  went  into  the  garden,  crossing  the  cattle  lane, 
where  the  footprints  of  the  cows  were  fresh  in  the 
dust.  Near  at  hand  he  heard  a  voice  shouting.  It 
was  the  voice  of  the  overseer,  but  the  sound  startled 
him,  and  he  awoke  abruptly  to  himself  and  his  forty 
years.  The  spell  of  the  past  was  broken — even  the 
riotous  old  garden,  blending  its  many  colours  in  a 
single  blur,  could  not  bring  it  back.  The  chrysan- 
themums and  the  roses  and  the  hardy  zenias  that 
came  up  uncared  for  were  powerless  to  reinvoke  the 
spirit  of  the  place.  If  Eugenia,  in  her  full-blown 
motherhood,  had  risen  in  an  overgrown  path  he 
might  have  passed  her  by  unheeding.  His  Eugenia 
was  a  girl  in  a  muslin  gown,  endowed  with  immortal 
youth — the  youth  of  visions  unfulfilled  and  desire 
unquenched.  His  Eugenia  could  never  grow  old 
— could  never  alter — could  never  leave  the  eternal 


43  8  The  Voice  of  the  People 

sunshine  of  dead  autumns.  In  his  nostrils  was  the 
keen  sweetness  of  old-fashioned  flowers,  but  his 
thoughts  were  not  of  them,  and,  turning  presently, 
he  went  back  as  he  had  come.  It  was  dark  when 
at  last  he  reached  the  judge's  house  and  sat  down  to 
supper. 

He  was  with  the  judge  until  midnight,  when,  be- 
fore going  to  his  room,  he  descended  the  stairs  and 
went  out  upon  the  porch.  He  had  been  thinking  of 
the  elections  three  days  hence,  and  the  outcome 
seemed  to  him  more  hopeful  than  it  had  done  when 
he  first  came  forward  as  a  candidate.  The  uncer- 
tainty was  almost  as  great,  this  he  granted;  but  be- 
hind him  he  believed  to  be  the  pressure  of  the 
people's  will — which  the  schemes  of  politicians  had 
not  turned.  Tuesday  would  prove  nothing — nor 
had  the  conventions  that  had  been  held;  when  the 
meeting  of  the  caucus  came,  he  would  still  be  in 
ignorance — unaware  of  traps  that  had  been  laid  or 
surprises  to  be  sprung.  It  was  the  mark  to  which 
his  ambition  had  aimed — the  end  to  which  his  career 
had  faced — that  now  rose  before  him,  and  yet  in  his 
heart  there  was  neither  elation  nor  distrust.  He 
had  done  his  best — he  had  fought  fairly  and  well, 
and  he  awaited  what  the  day  might  bring  forth. 

Above  him  a  full  moon  was  rising,  and  across  the 
green  the  crooked  path  wound  like  a  silver  thread, 
leading  to  the  glow  of  a  night-lamp  that  burned  in 
a  sick-room.  The  night,  the  air,  the  shuttered 
houses  were  as  silent  as  the  churchyard,  where  the 
tombstones  glimmered,  row  on  row.  Only  some- 
where on  the  vacant  green  a  hound  bayed  at  the 
moon. 


The  Voice  of  the  People  439 

He  looked  out  an  instant  longer,  and  was  turning 
back,  when  his  eye  caught  a  movement  among 
the  shadows  in  the  distant  lane.  A  quick  thought 
came  to  him,  and  he  kept  his  gaze  beneath  the  heavy 
maples,  where  the  moonshine  fell  in  flecks.  For  a 
moment  all  was  still,  and  then  into  the  light  came 
the  figure  of  a  man.  Another  followed,  another, 
and  another,  passing  again  into  the  dark  and  then 
out  into  the  brightness  that  led  into  the  little  gully 
far  beyond.  There  was  no  sound  except  the  baying 
of  the  dog ;  the  figures  went  on,  noiseless  and  orderly 
and  grim,  from  dark  to  light  and  from  light  again 
to  dark.  There  were  at  most  a  dozen  men,  and  they 
might  have  been  a  band  of  belated  workmen  return- 
ing to  their  homes  or  a  line  of  revellers  that  had 
been  sobered  into  silence.  They  might  have  been 
— but  a  sudden  recollection  came  to  him,  and  he 
closed  the  door  softly  and  went  out.  There  was 
but  one  thing  that  it  meant ;  this  he  knew.  It  meant 
a  midnight  attack  on  the  gaol,  and  a  man  dead  be- 
fore morning,  who  must  die  anyway — it  meant 
vengeance  so  quiet  yet  so  determined  that  it  was 
as  sure  as  the  hand  of  God — and  it  meant  the  de- 
fiance of  laws  whose  guardian  he  was. 

He  broke  into  a  run,  crossing  the  green  and  fol- 
lowing the  path  that  rose  and  fell  into  the  gullies  as 
it  led  on  to  the  gaol.  As  he  ran  he  saw  the  glow  of 
the  night-lamp  in  the  sick-room,  and  he  heard  the 
insistent  baying  of  the  hound. 

The  moonlight  was  thick  and  full.  It  showed  the 
quiet  hill  flanked  by  the  open  pasture ;  and  it  showed 
the  little  whitewashed  gaol,  and  the  late  roses  bloom- 
ing on  the  fence.     It  showed  also  the  mob  that  had 


440  The  Voice  of  the  People 

gathered — a  gathering  as  quiet  as  a  congregation 
at  prayer.  But  in  the  silence  was  the  danger — the 
determination  to  act  that  choked  back  speech — 
the  grimness  of  the  justice  that  walks  at  night 
— the  triumph  of  a  lawless  rage  that  knows  con- 
trol. 

As  he  reached  the  hill  he  saw  that  the  men  he  had 
followed  had  been  enforced  by  others  from  different 
roads.  It  was  not  an  outbreak  of  swift  desperation, 
but  a  well-planned,  well-ordered  strategy ;  it  was  not 
a  mob  that  he  faced,  but  an  incarnate  vengeance. 

He  came  upon  it  quickly,  and  as  he  did  so  he  saw 
that  the  sheriff  was  ahead  of  him,  standing,  a  single 
man,  between  his  prisoner  and  the  rope.  "  For 
God's  sake,  men,  I  haven't  got  the  keys,"  he  called 
out. 

Nicholas  swung  himself  over  the  fence  and  made 
his  way  to  the  entrance  beneath  the  steps  that  led 
to  the  floor  above.  He  had  come  as  one  of  the  men 
about  him,  and  they  had  not  heeded  him.  Now,  as 
he  faced  them  from  the  shadow  he  saw  here  and 
there  a  familiar  face — the  face  of  a  boy  he  had  played 
with  in  childhood.  Several  were  masked,  but  the 
others  raised  bare  features  to  the  moonlight — fea- 
tures that  were  as  familiar  as  his  own. 

Then  he  stood  up  and  spoke.  "  Men,  listen  to 
me.  In  the  name  of  the  Law,  I  swear  to  you  that 
justice  shall  be  done — I  swear." 

A  voice  came  from  somewhere.  "  We  ain't  here 
to  talk — you  stand  aside,  and  we'll  show  you  what 
we're  here  for." 

Again  he  began.     "  I  swear  to  you " 

"  We  don't  want  no  swearing."     On  the  outskirts 


The  Voice  of  the  People  441 

of  the  crowd  a  man  laughed.  "  We  don't  want  no 
swearing,"  the  voice  repeated. 

The  throng  pressed  forward,  and  he  saw  the  faces 
that  he  knew  crowding  closer.  A  black  cloud  shut 
out  the  moonlight.  Above  the  pleading  of  the 
sheriff's  tones  he  heard  the  distant  baying  of  the 
hound. 

He  tried  to  speak  again.  "  We'll  be  damned,  but 
we'll  get  the  nigger!  "  called  some  one  beside  him. 
The  words  struck  him  like  a  blow.  He  saw  red, 
and  the  sudden  rage  upheld  him.  He  knew  that  he 
was  to  fight — a  blind  fight  for  he  cared  not  what. 
The  old  savage  instinct  blazed  within  him — the  in- 
stinct to  do  battle  to  death — to  throttle  with  his 
single  hand  the  odds  that  opposed.  With  a  grip  of 
iron  he  braced  himself  against  the  doorway,  cover- 
ing the  entrance. 

"  I'll  be  damned  if  you  do!  "  he  thundered. 

A  quick  shot  rang  out  sharply.  The  flash  blinded 
him,  and  the  smoke  hung  in  his  face.  Then  the 
moon  shone  and  he  heard  a  cry — the  cry  of  a  well- 
known  voice. 

"  By  God,  it's  Nick  Burr!"  it  said.  He  took  a 
step  forward. 

"  Boys,  I  am  Nick  Burr,"  he  cried,  and  he  went 
down  in  the  arms  of  the  mob. 

They  raised  him  up,  and  he  stood  erect  between 
the  leaders.  There  was  blood  on  his  lips,  but  a  man 
tore  off  a  mask  and  wiped  it  away.  "  By  God,  it's 
Nick  Burr!  "  he  exclaimed  as  he  did  so. 

Nicholas  recognised  his  voice  and  smiled.  His 
face  was  gray,  but  his  eyes  were  shining,  and  as  he 
steadied  himself  with  all  his  strength,  he  said  with 


442  The  Voice  of  the  People 

a  laugh.  "  There's  no  harm  done,  man."  But  when 
they  laid  him  down  a  moment  later  he  was  dead. 

He  lay  in  the  narrow  path  between  the  doorstep 
and  the  gate  where  roses  bloomed.  Some  one  had 
started  for  the  nearest  house,  but  the  crowd  stood 
motionless  about  him.  "  By  God,  it's  Nick  Burr !  " 
repeated  the  man  who  had  held  him. 

The  sheriff  knelt  on  the  ground  and  raised  him 
in  his  arms.  As  he  folded  his  coat  about  him  he 
looked  up  and  spoke. 

"  And  he  died  for  a  damned  brute,"  was  what 
he  said. 


VI 


It  was  the  afternoon  of  election  day,  and  Eugenia 
sat  in  her  drawing-room  with  Sally  Bassett. 

Outside  there  was  the  sound  of  tramping  feet,  for 
the  people  were  giving  him  burial.  They  had  been 
passing  so  for  half  an  hour  and  they  still  went  on, 
on,  on — he  was  going  to  his  grave  in  state. 

"  There  are  the  drums,"  said  Sally,  turning  her 
ear.  "  All  Virginia  has  come  to  town,  I  believe. 
The  whole  city  is  in  mourning,  and  by  and  by  they 
will  put  up  his  statue  in  the  Capitol  Square — but  if 
he  had  lived,  would  he  have  had  the  senatorship?  " 

"  Ah,  who  knows  ?  "  said  Eugenia.  She  played 
idly  with  the  spoon  of  her  teacup,  her  eyes  on  the 
coals. 

"  As  you  say — who  knows  ?  "  murmured  the 
other.  "  And,  after  all,  it  is  perhaps  better  that  he 
died  just  now.  He  would  have  tried  to  lift  us  too 
high,  and  we  should  have  fallen  back.  He  was  a 
hero,  and  the  public  can't  always  keep  to  the  heroic 
level." 

There  were  tears  in  her  voice. 

Eugenia  drank  her  tea  and  said  nothing. 

After  Sally  had  gone  she  still  sat  with  her  cup  in 
her  hand  before  the  fire.  Her  child  was  rolling  on 
the  floor  at  her  feet,  but  she  did  not  stoop  to  him. 
She  was  not  thinking — she  was  merely  resting  from 
emotion — as  she  would  rest  for  the  remainder  of  her 
davs. 


444  The  Voice  of  the  People 

The  sound  of  tramping  feet  died  away.  The  cars 
passed  once  more,  and  along  the  block  a  boy  went 
whistling  a  tune.  Everything  was  beginning  again 
— everything  would  go  on  as  it  had  gone  since  the 
dawn  of  time,  and  she  would  go  with  it.  The  best 
or  the  worst  of  it  was  that  she  would  go  happily — 
neither  regretting  nor  despairing,  but  filled  to  the 
finger-tips  with  the  cheerful  energy  of  a  busy  life. 

Suddenly  she  caught  up  her  child  with  a  frantic 
rapture  and  held  him  to  her  bosom,  kissing  the  small 
hands  that  reached  up  to  her  lips.  This  was  her 
portion,  and  even  to-day  she  was  content. 

An  hour  later  Dudley  found  her  sitting  there 
when  he  entered,  and  as  he  straightened  himself 
against  the  mantel  he  looked  down  on  her  with  an 
affectionate  gaze. 

"  He  was  a  great  man,"  he  said  simply,  and  his 
generous  spirit  rang  in  his  voice. 

"  Yes,  he  was  a  great  man,"  repeated  Eugenia. 
She  looked  up  at  her  husband  as  he  stood  before  her 
— buoyant  with  expectation,  mellowed  by  the  glow 
of  assured  success.  He  smiled  into  her  face,  and  she 
smiled  back  again  with  quick  tenderness.  Then  she 
bent  above  her  child  and  kissed  his  lips,  and  the  sun- 
light coming  from  the  day  without  shone  in  her  eyes. 


